


nothing to gain to just be with me

by knapp_shappeys



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Aviation, Driving, F/F, False Identity, Femslash February, Fluff, Meet-Cute, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Planespotting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:14:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29079192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knapp_shappeys/pseuds/knapp_shappeys
Summary: She’s dressed completely wrong for a morning of planespotting on the outskirts of Zurich airport.Despite—or maybe even because of—this, Linda Fairbairn can’t take her eyes off of her.
Relationships: Linda Fairbairn/Theresa of Liechtenstein
Comments: 30
Kudos: 7





	1. Mriya

**Author's Note:**

> title borrowed from “asking for a friend” by mxmtoon.
> 
> all chapter titles (except the last) are of/will be an airplane or flight that features prominently in it.

As far as first impressions went, Linda Fairbairn thought the new planespotter was ill-prepared for the occasion.

The new planespotter wasn’t very tall. She had probably stepped out of the front window of one of the shops on the  _ Bahnhofstrasse  _ in the Zurich city center—at least judging from the beige coat she’d buttoned up over a cashmere scarf. However, Linda was particularly dismayed by the woman’s choice of shoes—camel loafers that had probably cost about the same amount of euros as the DSLR camera hanging around Linda’s neck.

In a lull between aircraft, Linda gazed down at her own boots, wiggling her toes inside them—an investment, something she’d brought over from Scotland when she’d moved here—then cast another surreptitious look at the new planespotter leaning against the fence, seemingly not caring about the metal rubbing against the wool of her coat.

Linda wondered what she was doing here. She’d never seen this particular planespotter around the little park-like zone Zurich Airport had set aside near its runways, specifically for the use of aviation enthusiasts. Of course there was Alfons and Julien with their fascination for the Bombardiers operated by the regional branches of the big airlines, and Sandra who seemed to never cease photographing the 747—the Queen of the Skies herself, slowly coming to Zurich less and less as she was phased out of most major airlines to give way to the more efficient twinjets. There was Benjamin, who was wide-eyed and lovely but definitely not Linda’s type (a little  _ too  _ engrossed by the A340 for her taste) and Claude, a recent transplant from Lausanne who had a special interest in the relatively rare Beechcraft 1900D providing service to Lyon.

If Linda judged by the outfit, she would have guessed the newcomer was an influencer of some type: but she’d seen influencers here before, and they usually came with at least a photographer or an assistant with a reflector panel to shine light into the subject’s face for Instagram. Linda had often wondered if those sorts of things were legal near a working runway, though she’d never noticed any reflected light on her flights over the area. At least she wasn’t a YouTuber—Linda privately thought they were far worse, because they were always so  _ loud.  _ Always chattering, re-taking a line over and over again.  _ I’m here today at the...I’m here today at the...Like, comment, and... _

The beauty of planespotting for Linda, most of the time, was that people left her alone to admire the sweeping lines of the fuselages, the gleam of sunlight against the leading edge flaps, the movement of ailerons and flaps as pilots tested them before run-up.

The YouTubers and the influencers were all the same—as soon as the cameras turned off, the feigned interest did, too. They were usually in and out in a matter of minutes.

But the planespotters—the dutiful, patient, quiet people pressed up against the fence fingering shutters and adjusting settings—they stayed. Sometimes for hours at a time.

Linda had no idea how long the new planespotter had been at the fence, but she guessed she’d been there a while.

She checked her flight-tracking app. A flight to Kuusamo was scheduled to take off soon, one of the last Fokker 100s in a small airline’s fleet. It was a regional jet, and Linda had heard that it would soon be replaced with a new model. She wanted to catch one last picture of the Fokker 100 before that happened.

Linda squinted across the taxiways. Sure enough, the Swiss cross bloomed white against the red vertical stabilizer of a Fokker 100 as it slowly taxied to the mouth of the north runway. She lifted her camera to her eye and made some last-minute adjustments to the aperture, leaning over so that she was bracing her elbows on the cold metal fence.

The plane began to roll forward, and as the pilot flying applied more power to the engines, a dull roar filled the air. Her fellow planespotters perked up at the sound, aiming cameras and binoculars toward the small jet as it peeled down the runway and lifted into the air.

Linda got her picture just as the Fokker 100 rotated, climbing into the clear alpine air. She managed to get another one as the plane banked onto the course ATC had given it, a northern route that would take them to Finland.

_ “ Entschuldigen Sie, _ _”_ a voice broke into her bubble of focus, and Linda briefly pulled away from her camera, where she’d been trying to access her pictures, and searched for the source of the voice.

The new planespotter had turned halfway against the fence to face her. A small pin glimmered on the left lapel of her coat, but Linda couldn’t see clearly what it must be—she supposed it to be a decorative brooch of some kind.

_ “ Grüezi, _ _”_ Linda managed a greeting, stepping away from the fence and turning to face the newcomer.

_ “ Wo ane faart dä Flugzüg? _ _”_ The woman tipped her head to one side and pointed upward, ostensibly indicating the Fokker 100 that had just taken off. The breeze stirred her hair as she gazed inquiringly at Linda.

If Linda was completely honest, she hadn’t been able to parse a single word from the quickly uttered question. “Uhhh…”

“Ah,  _ es tut mir leid, _ _”_ the new planespotter apologized. _“_ _ Macht nichts.”  _ She’d probably assumed Linda didn’t know the answer to the question. Linda didn’t have a problem with that, at least not yet—she didn’t even know what the planespotter had asked.

Linda fidgeted with her lens cap, trying to remember what little German she’d picked up since her move. “Uhh... _ Bitte... _ erm... _ Bitte sprechen Sie langsam…? _ _”_ she asked haltingly.

“Oh!” The woman looked back at Linda, eyes widening. _“_ _ Ach so. _ Erm... _ Wohin fliegt das Flugzeug?”  _ she said a little slower, enunciating each word. It rolled off her tongue a little differently—maybe she’d switched from Swiss German to High German?

“Okay! Uh...Kuusamo, Finland,” Linda nodded vigorously, momentarily pleased that she’d helped, before it hit her—she didn’t know if the country name was different in German.

Her ears grew warm, and Linda briefly ducked her head, embarrassed.

“Oh, do you prefer English?” The newcomer’s voice interrupted Linda’s thoughts again, and Linda looked up quickly at her. An amused, almost self-deprecating look had crossed the other woman’s face, and her cheeks had become rosy—whether from the wind or embarrassment, Linda wasn’t sure.

“I mean, it’s my native language,” Linda replied, a little flustered. “I...I’m not from here. I should’ve picked up some German when I had the chance. When I was younger, I mean. Before I moved.”

“Ah, I see!” A little smile crossed the other woman’s face, revealing little dimples in her cheeks. “I see now. I should have been a little clearer—it’s just that usually, whenever people who are used to High German come down here, they get  _ very  _ confused—”

“Well, that’s one thing they and I have in common.” Linda laughed nervously, crossing her toes inside her boots. “But...I’m not even used to High German yet.”

“Your accent is coming along. Just keep practicing, I’m sure you’ll get it.” She drummed her fingers against the rail, smiling kindly. “So...Kuusamo, hm? Isn’t that one of the last of their Fokker 100s?”

Linda managed a nod, trying to hide the fact that she’d just been pleasantly surprised. So this new planespotter was truly here for the planes after all, not social media clout or anything of the sort. Intriguing. “It’s a beautiful plane,” she ventured.

“Yes,” the newcomer agreed. “I always thought it was a nice little aircraft. I do tend to have a weakness for the engines being mounted on the rear fuselage, they give me almost a...almost a feeling like those old Mad Dogs. But quieter, obviously, and with bigger wings. I’ll be sad to see it go.”

Suddenly, a phone rang, and Linda went to check hers in her pocket—but the newcomer shook her head, smiling a little ruefully. “It’s me. That’s probably my cue to leave.” She pushed off the rail and began to walk away.

“Oh!” Linda turned and stared after her. “Um... _ Uf...Widerluege? Uf Widerluege,”  _ she called out.

_ “ Super!”  _ The new planespotter turned around and grinned at her, tucking her hair behind her ears. “That’s right.  _ Uf Widerluege.” _

As she turned and walked back to the main access road, an unmarked sedan—maybe an Uber?—pulled up, and the other woman opened the back passenger door and slid inside. Shortly after, it peeled away from the side of the road—and with that, the mysterious woman was gone.

Deciding to take a break, Linda stepped away from the fence and walked along the pathway to an area the airport had developed into a tiny park, with benches and a table for picnics. Julien was sitting at the table, peering at his images through his viewfinder.

_ “Hoi,  _ Julien,” Linda greeted, sitting down across from him.

Julien looked up from his camera. _“_ _ Hoi  _ to you too, First Officer Fairbairn.”

“Julien, I keep telling you, you don’t have to…” Linda laughed a little.

“It gives me a tiny bit of validation. Just a bit.” Julien brought his index finger and thumb together—the universal sign for “a little”—and smiled. “I’m not actually crazy. Real pilots do this too.”

“It’s a noble pursuit.” Linda unbuckled her camera bag and tucked her lens and camera inside before taking out a pastry she’d picked up that morning. It was quickly becoming a custom for her, much to her pleasure. It made Zurich feel more like a home to her, rather than just a place where she was domiciled for Swiss Air.

_ Meitschibei _ was what the pastry was called—“girls’ legs,” for its shape. It had been amusing for more reasons than one.

“Yes, it is,” Julien agreed, returning to his photos as Linda ate half of her pastry.

“Say, Julien?” she asked after a few minutes, putting her food back in her bag and wiping off her hands.

“Yeah?”

“Did you...did you happen to notice that new planespotter earlier? In the beige coat and the scarf?”

“Oh, she’s not new.” Julien put down his camera and took a sip from his travel mug, the steam from the drink fogging up his glasses.

“She’s not?” Linda raised her eyebrows. “I thought she…”

“You mean the way she dresses? Nah. I think she probably works an office job and comes here on her breaks, but she’s not new. She’s been coming here for years.”

“Oh. You said...have you ever talked—?”

“No, never talked with her before. At first, I thought the same thing too—she really wasn’t dressed properly to be out here for long, so I thought she must have just wanted someplace to be alone, but she just...kept coming back. Did you talk to her?”

“Yeah, but we didn’t talk of anything personal. At least,” Linda amended, “she didn’t. She’s...very knowledgeable about planes, I was a little surprised.”

“Well,” Julien said wryly, “you know what they say about the books and their covers…”

Linda laughed, rising and taking out her camera again. “Yes. That’s true.”

* * *

Linda hurried up to the fence in the middle of unbuckling her camera bag, looked up and down its length, and let out a frustrated sigh.

She’d promised herself she would try to show up early for today’s special event—the Antonov An-225 Mriya was scheduled to make a rare visit to Zurich airport to deliver some equipment from abroad to the Swiss armed forces. With six turbofan engines and a massive fuselage, it was the heaviest airplane ever built—for all Linda’s years of planespotting, she’d never had a chance to see it in person.

But she’d had a late morning, and from the looks of it, most of the planespotters of Switzerland had beat her to the prime viewing location. 

She looked around again, desperately searching for a place at the rail. People were crowding the fence, readying smartphone cameras and telephoto lenses and taking up valuable elbow room. Some had even climbed on top of the picnic table to find a good vantage point.

Scanning the people gathered at the fence, she spotted a flash of beige wool. 

Something inside her chest jolted.

Linda had returned the same time every day for at least a week after she’d first met the mysterious planespotter. She hadn’t been very sure why she’d done so—maybe she was hoping to see the other woman again, to introduce herself properly and find out a little more about her. How she came to know so much about planes...among other things.

But Linda had been on call then, and had been abruptly rotated into a weeklong tour to replace a pilot who’d called in sick. Which had been a  _ little  _ frustrating, but she’d reasoned with herself that there would be plenty more chances to try and catch the planespotter again.

And sure enough, she was there in the beige coat, holding on to the fence rail as if one gust of wind might send her flying. As if she’d sensed someone looking at her from behind, she turned, saw Linda, and smiled. 

_ “ _Hoi_!”  _ she waved as best as she could while holding the spot. “Come over here.”

Struck a little dumb, Linda obeyed, and the other woman let her slide into the mass of people. _“_ _ Hoi,”  _ she replied, looking down and smiling as best she could while taking out her camera.

It was a tight fit, and Linda could feel her ears heat up as she accidentally elbowed the other woman more than once—though she didn’t seem to mind. “I haven’t seen you around lately,” she was saying cheerfully. “Thought you might come to see the Mriya, though.”

“Of course I would, I wouldn’t miss her for the world.” Linda popped off her lens cap and quickly slung her camera around her neck. “And it’s good to see you again. I feel like our introduction was too brief, and I hoped to talk to you properly again. It’s just that...well, I got unexpectedly busy.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I get it.” Even squeezed into the person next to her, the other woman managed to wave a hand nonchalantly and laugh. “I wanted to talk to you again too, but I just kept telling myself,  _ Zurich’s a big city. _ ”

“Well, that too.” Though she wanted nothing more than to turn and get a good look at her companion for the first time, Linda could barely move to face her. She settled for looking out over the runways. 

A thought occurred to Linda as she buckled her camera bag closed and tucked it between her feet. “Oh, I don’t know where my manners have gone,” she exclaimed. “I’ve never even asked—I’m Linda. What’s your name?”

“Call me...well, call me Tessa. You’ve got a pretty name,” she smiled up at Linda, who found herself grinning.

“Yours is too.”

Suddenly, from a spot further down the fence, someone called out, “There it is, on final approach,” and pointed toward the east.

“Oh, where is it?” Tessa gasped, twisting away from the fence partway to give Linda room to set up her camera. “I can’t see the landing lights, damn these clouds.”

“Hold on.” Linda turned on the camera, pointed it east, and zoomed in. Sure enough, the Mriya was descending, a white anti-collision light flashing on its underside. “It’s coming in,” she told Tessa, not taking her eye away from the viewfinder. “I think it just broke through the clouds and they’ve established they’re making a visual landing.”

“Oh! Yes, I see it now... _ Wow!” _

Linda silently agreed—the Mriya was truly a sight to behold. With three engines tucked under each wing and twin tails pushing out from the fuselage, it cut a one-of-a-kind figure against the sky. 

Keeping an eye on the plane, still high above the ground, Linda snapped photos as she spotted the pilots putting the massive cargo plane into a flare. The Mriya’s 32-wheel main gear seemed to stretch toward the earth, almost as if it was eager to meet it.

As the Mriya came lower and lower, the voices of its six Progress turbofan engines grew louder, until those unused to the roar were covering their ears.

Finally, at just the right spot on Zurich’s second runway, the plane’s many wheels met the ground—first the main gear, followed by the landing gear. A plume of smoke rose from the huge tires as they skidded against the tarmac and were quickly brought up to speed to help the plane to a lower velocity on the ground.

Linda momentarily pulled away from her viewfinder, satisfied.

“So how were they?” Tessa asked breathlessly. “How’d the photos come out?”

“I think I got some good pictures of the flare,” Linda replied, squinting across the airfield as Mriya began taxiing to stand. Around them, shutters were clicking, and people further down were taking video where it was quieter. “Want to see?” she asked Tessa. Already, people were beginning to peel away from the fence, running over to where they presumed the massive plane was going to park. Though the free space at the rail was steadily growing, Tessa remained standing close to Linda. Something about that made Linda feel a bit tickled, but she wasn’t sure why.

“Oooh, please!” Tessa’s eyes were saucers above cheeks reddened from the wind. She accepted Linda’s camera, carefully looped the strap around her neck, and squinted at the screen. 

“Try through here,” Linda suggested, pointing at the viewfinder, and Tessa closed one eye and peered through it. “There. If you want a closer look, zoom in like...this.” She pointed out the button, and Tessa adjusted her grip so she could easily reach it. “Now you look like a pro,” Linda teased lightly. 

“Linda, these are such good pictures,” Tessa gasped, zooming in. “The livery is so clear! And from far off, too. How do you  _ do  _ it?” 

“Oh, loads and loads of practice. I've been doing this for years,” Linda smiled fondly. “My father always took me along with him to the airport on his days off to point out the planes and angles and such. I’ve had a whole life of learning from mistakes and practicing, I guess.”

Tessa looked up from the camera and gave Linda a cheeky grin. “How about I help you with your German, and you teach me your secrets?”

Linda couldn’t help smiling. “I like that idea. I like it a lot.”

Tessa unslung the camera from around her neck and offered it back to Linda. The weak sunlight glinted off her little lapel pin as she handed the camera off. “Shake on it?” she asked once Linda had looped the camera back around her neck.

Her grip was firm, her eyes warm, and her smile genuine.

And Linda realized, just as clear as if she’d said it out loud to herself:  _ Oh, Linda. You’re really in for it now. _


	2. Shepherd One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a chance meeting far from home—in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: dangerous levels of self-indulgence ahead !!

“Ooh, Tessa, look over there. See that KLM 737?”

“The one over near the...near Terminal B? The one that just got pushed out?”

“Yeah.” Linda zoomed in with her telephoto lens and looked back at Tessa, who was gripping one of Linda’s old cameras and staring intently at her. “I think it’s going to taxi out right in front of us.” 

“Oh! Should...so I should switch out my lens.”

“Right.” Linda held her bag open as Tessa quickly released her telephoto lens, stored it away, and replaced it with a shorter one.

Linda caught herself staring at Tessa as she secured the new lens and tested out a photo. After about a month of surreptitiously stealing glances at her in this way, Linda had discovered that Tessa had a habit of sticking out the tip of her tongue while concentrating. This time was no exception.

Turning away and adjusting her own camera to catch a French A320 on short final, Linda tried and failed to suppress a chuckle.

_ “Wie bitte? Was gibt’s?” _ Tessa demanded from next to her, snapping photographs of the KLM 737 Linda had pointed out. 

“Has anyone ever told you—”

“Ah, ah!  _ Wie heisst das auf Deutsch?” _ Tessa put on a positively schoolteacher-like air, not once looking up from the camera. 

Linda rolled her eyes, but failed to hold in a silly smile.  _ “Vielleicht...Ich, _ erm,  _ versu—” _

“Unless you are trying to flirt with me,” Tessa interjected, lowering her camera, tipping her head down a bit, and looking up at Linda through her eyelashes.

Linda froze under her gaze, the smile on her face turning to plastic.

“Because if that’s the case—that might be a bit hard if you’re just starting out. You’d probably be better off doing it in English!” Tessa’s entire face melted into a good-natured, joking smile, and she popped out the shorter lens. Her eyes sparkled as she put out a hand to Linda. “The telephoto lens,  _ bitte.” _

“Oh. Ha ha. Okay.” Linda tried to force herself into an easy laugh, but she couldn’t force away the fact that the bottom of her stomach had just dropped through the core of the earth and out the other side of the planet. She bent over and retrieved the lens from her bag.

_ “Merci vilmal.”  _ Tessa slipped the 500-mm into Linda’s bag and replaced it with the telephoto lens. “That’s slang, by the way. Have I ever told you…?”

“No, not really,” Linda managed, still a little flummoxed.

“So  _ Merci  _ comes from the French, obviously, and we just tack on a  _ vilmal _ —in  _ Hochdeutsch  _ that would be  _ vielmals,  _ but they don’t use that a lot. Means ‘thank you very much.’ I always used to think we just borrowed the  _ thank you  _ part and then put on the  _ very much  _ in German so we wouldn’t be confused for French speakers, but—” Tessa shrugged. “It wouldn’t make much difference for me anyhow...I know some French.”

“Oh!” Linda searched desperately for something to say in response. “So you...you come from the, erm, French parts—French-speaking region?”  _ Good work, Linda… _

“Well, not really.” Tessa’s expression began to take on a more guarded quality, but she continued nevertheless. “I just had to learn it, I work with some French speakers. Is that a 757 or a 767?” she abruptly changed the subject, pointing ahead at a cargo plane. “I have a hard time telling those apart.”

Linda returned her gaze to the airfield, inexplicably feeling guilty. Even though she’d been meeting up with Tessa intermittently for the past month and chatting with her over the phone when they couldn’t meet in person, Linda still had to admit that she knew next to nothing about Tessa. Maybe she was a bit nosy for wanting to know—Tessa’s aversion to sharing anything about herself was palpable. 

But it had been a month, and Linda couldn’t help but feel something was off—either with her, or with Tessa, or the both of them. It had been a month since they had become acquainted—why couldn’t Tessa trust her yet? What was Linda going to have to do to gain that trust?

Or maybe she was expecting too much. Maybe she’d thrown herself in too hard, maybe she had looked where there was nothing to be found. 

It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d done that, and from the looks of it, it wouldn’t be the last.

“Well,” Linda shook off the surprisingly dark turn her thoughts had taken. “The 757’s gear stalks are a bit...gangly...compared to the 76. Almost like a...like a heron or something. And the 757 has a sharper nose than the 76, at least that’s if you can’t tell the gear stalks apart. Those are the most obvious signs.”

“So  _ that... _ would be a 7...6,” Tessa muttered. “Right?”

“Yes, that’d be right.”

They talked of planes and photography for half an hour more before agreeing that they were done for the day and packing up the gear at the picnic table. 

“Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you,” Linda exclaimed as she fitted the lenses into compartments in her bag. 

“What is it?” Tessa asked, propping her chin on her folded hands and looking up at Linda.

“I won’t be around for the next week,” Linda zipped up her bag and sat across from Tessa. Far away, an A340 was spooling up its engines, readying itself for a journey across the world. “I’m going on holiday.”

“Ooh!” Tessa raised her eyebrows. “Sounds exciting! Is it for...rally driving? Or just for fun?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m excited,” Linda laughed. “But not for rallying or anything, I just wanted to visit. Thought I might treat myself a bit, you know?”

“Yes, I see what you mean. So  _ where  _ are you off to?” Tessa leaned forward and waggled her eyebrows.

“Rome,” Linda covered her mouth to stifle her giggle.

“Oh, how lovely!”

“I’ve always wanted to properly enjoy Rome—been there a few times, for work, but...well, didn’t have time to savor the city. So no time like the present.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy yourself,” Tessa grinned at her and rose from the table. Linda mirrored her, picking up her camera bag. “I’ll try not to miss you too much.”

“Oh, don’t be so sappy about it, I might blush.” Linda stifled a laugh again.

“And perhaps that was my ulterior motive all along.”

Linda looked aside at Tessa, who was sending her a positively sly grin, and swatted her playfully over the arm.

* * *

“Ah... _ si fermi qui, per favore,”  _ Linda leaned forward and rapped on the partition separating herself from the taxi driver.

The driver braked and turned around in his seat, fixing her with a look that told her in no uncertain terms that he thought she was insane. “It is a petrol station?”

“And I wanted to come here.” Linda nodded resolutely, rummaging through her billfold for some euros and holding her fare out to the driver.  _ “Molto grazie per... _ uh... _ per manejando... _ uh... _ rápido.” _

_ “Grazie,” _ her driver replied a little warily, accepting the bills and counting through them. 

Linda quickly scraped her belongings together from where they’d been flung about the back of the car from the hard brake and put her hand on the door handle.  _ “Tenga il resto, arrivederci!”  _

The door of the snack bar jingled as she pushed it open. Her usual online planespotting guide had advised her that the terrace of this petrol station conveniently overlooking two runways of Rome-Fiumicino International Airport was free to access, but it was good etiquette to buy something from the place before going up.

After buying a packet of Fonzies, Linda left the snack bar and hurried around to the side of the building to where the website had also told her was a set of stairs leading up to the terrace.

The climb winded her, and she paused at the top to survey the view and take out her phone. Opening her flight-tracker app, she waited a second for the location services to kick in, then zoomed in on Rome-Fiumicino airport, trying to find the plane she was looking for.

Alitalia flight AZ4000, also known by the occasional callsign  _ Shepherd One,  _ a 777-200ER currently on stand—the plane that would carry the Pope out of Italy and to a state visit to a community in Asia.

It was Linda’s last day in Rome, and to her great fortune, several planespotting discussion boards she followed had informed her that the relatively novel event was occurring. She happened to be in the area—it was too fun an opportunity to pass up.

Linda hurried over to the terrace rail, where a small knot of people were already gathered and pointing over toward the apron nearest a terminal building.

One of the planespotters standing with her noticed her trying to see over the various ground vehicles blocking their view.  _ “Italiano?”  _ he asked, turning partly away from the group.

Linda shook her head.

“Ah, okay,” he nodded, adjusting the camera slung around his neck. “Here to see  _ Shepherd One?”  _

“Yeah,” she managed to catch her breath and reply. “Although I probably picked the wrong place to see it off.”

“We were just talking. I mean—we’re a planespotting club, and some of our buddies messaged us that they’ve opened a section of the terminal for photographers and planespotters, since it’s a special event.”

“Oh! Well, I hope it isn’t too late to head over there...or to get a spot.”

“We’ve been told it’s roomy. And actually, our Italian member—that’s Pietro, over there,” he pointed over to one of his companions, “has got a van downstairs. Hey, Pietro. Think we can get another person in?” he turned away and pointed his thumb at Linda.

“Yes, yes, we can fit the whole family in there if she wants!” Pietro waved a hand and returned to the conversation.

“Really?” Linda exclaimed. “You’d do that?”

“Of course! It’s a special day.”

Some minutes later, Linda found herself crammed in the back seat of a van between two burly planespotters excitedly talking about the times they’d been able to catch photos of AZ4000. 

“I can’t thank you enough,” she caught Pietro as they piled out of the van. “Really, I should give you something…” Linda rummaged through for her billfold.

“No, no, you don’t have to pay.”

“I should!” she insisted.

“If you’re so stubborn about giving me something, you could give me those Fonzies,” he grinned and pointed at the packet sticking out of her pocket. 

“Oh, no, be  _ serious.” _

“Nah. My kids, they love them.”

“Come  _ on,  _ Pietro,” one of the other group members yelled from the entrance to the terminal building.

“Oh, fine!” Linda held out the Fonzies to Pietro with a smile.  _ “Arrivederci.” _

_ “Arrivederci!” _

Soon, she found herself at a wide terminal window with a horde of planespotters, cameras clicking away as the 777 stood at attention on the tarmac, the Pope slowly ascending the metal steps to the open cabin door.

Suddenly, Linda heard the click of heeled shoes behind her. Probably some ground staff, coming to see the plane. She continued taking pictures with her point-and-shoot as the Pope turned and gave a small wave to the cameras before disappearing inside the jet.

Linda momentarily pulled away from her camera, satisfied, and looked to her side.

She did a double-take, then leaned forward, eyes widening. “Wait.  _ Tessa?” _

And lo, as if she’d been teleported straight from the Swiss plateau to the departures terminal of Rome-Fiumicino airport, Tessa was leaning against a crowd control post in a smart trouser suit and pumps with a very coy look pasted on her face. “I was wondering how long it’d take for you to notice.”

“I thought you were ground staff! Wait...what are you doing here?” Linda followed her with her eyes as Tessa drew closer to her, smiling.

“Oh, just happened to be working in the area,” Tessa waved a hand airily. “Thought I might stop by to see His Holiness off, didn’t expect the call of the airfield to be so strong that  _ you’d  _ come to see him off too.”

“It was completely by chance,” Linda shook her head, keeping an eye on the 777. “I just got lucky.”  _ In more ways than one,  _ she wanted to say, but she didn’t know how that would come across and so she sat on it.

Tessa laughed easily, as if she’d managed to pick up on the omitted sentiment.

They watched the 777 take off, trading discussion points as if they were still at the fence in Zurich.

As the plane banked away into the clouds and the crowd began to disperse, Tessa turned to Linda. “So. Any plans for today?”

“Ah, well...today’s my last full day here. So I scheduled myself to tour the Vatican Museum. But other than that, I hadn’t really  _ planned  _ much for today, really...I was just thinking of walking around, window-shopping maybe. Something like that.” She laughed. “ _ Incredible _ foresight on my part, I know.”

“Hmm...the Vatican museum, you say?” Tessa moved forward, linked arms with Linda, and gently led her away from the window and toward the exit. “What time’s your ticket entry?”

“Oh, well, not until at least two hours from now—11:30,” she cast a glance at the nearest clock, trying to hide the fact that she was probably blushing to the roots of her hair.

“Well, in which case, I’ll meet you there,” Tessa replied.

Linda quickly looked back at Tessa, eyes widening. “But you...you said you had work?” 

It was an extremely half-hearted question, and Tessa must have picked up on it, because she was smirking. “Well, I’ve suddenly discovered that my schedule has miraculously cleared from 11:30 on.” She released Linda’s arm and stepped away. “Remember—outside the gate, the one that’s built into the Vatican City wall. Middle entrance. I’ll be there. But until then... _ Ciao.” _

Tessa turned and slipped away into the crowd, leaving Linda to run a hand through her hair, a little giddy, a little perplexed—in love.

* * *

By the time Linda emerged from the metro station and followed the crowds of tourists heading for the Vatican Museum queues, the low-hanging clouds from the morning had dissipated, yielding to a breathtakingly clear sky.

_ Middle entrance.  _ Linda broke through a group discussing something in Mandarin and looked for the entry for online ticket holders.

There she was—Tessa wearing some trendy retro-style sunglasses and standing nonchalantly next to a guidepost with her arms crossed. In the time between their run-in at the airport and now, she’d tucked an airy button-up shirt into a skirt and changed into sneakers. It was obvious that Tessa had made a substantial effort to look a little less posh than normal, but she still looked just polished enough to stand out from the rest of the masses.

Not for the first time, Linda wondered why. 

Tessa grinned and jogged to meet Linda, skirt swishing around her knees as she came to a stop. “Hello!” she waved.

“Hi, Tessa,” Linda greeted her with a smile as they began walking toward the entrance. “But...how are you going to…”

“Oh, don’t worry so,” Tessa pulled out a folded piece of paper from her bag and waved it around before Linda’s face. “Are you ready?”

They presented their credentials at the entrance and passed through security before hurrying up a set of stairs to a verdant courtyard.

“Wow,” Linda exclaimed. “Oh, it’s much closer than I expected!”

The dome of St. Peter’s Basilica loomed ahead of them, and Tessa laughed. “Did you have a chance to climb it?”

“No, I just looked around the inside of the church when I went the other day.” Linda took out her point-and-shoot and snapped a picture. “You can climb the dome?”

“It’s a lot of steps, but it isn’t that bad of a climb. Especially now, when it’s not so warm. There’s even a lift up to the roof and a little shop before the dome climb. You want to have a go after this?”

“Sure!”

Tessa got one of the security guards to take a picture of them before leading Linda inside the museum and on a breakneck tour of antiquity, whisking her past mummies and statues of gods and tablets of cuneiform before pointing out half-ruined sculptures hewn from rock. They goggled at dismembered torsos and veins bulging from stone, armless women and sightless marble eyes.

Joining the crowds, they shuffled through rooms of Italian masters’ paintings and halls of tapestries. They kept a running tally of how many times they saw a depiction of St. Sebastian with a look of pious agony on his face and a quiver’s worth of arrows sticking out of his scantily-clothed body (it ran into the double digits). Reveling in irreverence, they giggled with each other behind their hands and mimicked the poses of the statues at random moments to catch each other by surprise.

Arms linked, they filed past the famous fresco of philosophers before joining the queue to see the pinnacle of the tour—the Sistine Chapel.

_ “Silenzio,”  _ a security guard droned into a microphone on the altar as another guard let the groups inside the chapel.

“If you can believe it,” Tessa hung on to her arm and led her to the middle of the room, “this took only four years to paint. And Michelangelo did most of it himself.” 

Linda appraised the altar piece before remembering exactly what made this room so famous.

She gasped as she craned her head to stare at the ceiling. Next to her, Tessa chuckled and looked up with her.

“I didn’t think,” Linda murmured aside to her companion, “that there were so many—”

_ “Silenzio,”  _ the guard droned again over the loudspeakers, startling Linda momentarily. Tessa hid a snicker behind her hand, but desisted once she saw Linda stick her tongue out at her.

“I didn’t think there were so many... _ different  _ paintings on the ceiling,” Linda continued once the volume inside the chapel had returned to a dull hum.

“It’s the Gospels according to Michelangelo,” Tessa huddled closer to her as a tour group wandered by. “His take on them. It makes it different from other Renaissance art. All in all it marks a shift in notions of art of the time.”

“How do you  _ know  _ all of this?” Linda demanded.

“Oh, just a lot of school,” Tessa smiled, but it was an uneasy one, and Linda was struck again by the feeling that she  _ still  _ didn’t trust her enough to answer simple questions.

Composing herself from the frustration threatening to bubble into her throat, Linda fell silent and continued picking out little details in the frescoes. A bearded prophet with his head in one hand, several prophetesses arranged regally in chairs. On the wall, a damned man staring out at the viewer with a look of anguish on his face, hunched over and clutching the side of his head.

Sometimes, Linda couldn’t help but feel a lot like that man.

Eventually, Tessa turned to Linda. “So. What next? St. Peter’s?”

“Is this the end of the museum?”

“The interesting parts, yeah,” Tessa shrugged. “Well, my metric for  _ interesting  _ falls within what I can  _ talk  _ about…”

Linda laughed. “I think I’ve stared at enough artifacts for today...and besides, if I visit  _ everything  _ here, what am I going to experience for the first time the next time I come here?”

“That’s the spirit!” Tessa giggled, earning them a sharp look and a stern shushing from a guard. “But anyway,” she lowered her tone. “You want to go to St. Peter’s next?”

“Don’t we have to go back out through the museum to do that?”

“Well…” Tessa’s face took on a shrewd look. “I do know a shortcut.”

“Really!” Linda’s eyebrows went up. “Where?”

“Here,” Tessa took hold of Linda’s arms and gently turned her around, subtly pointing out a set of doors standing open in a corner of the chapel. “That’s a shortcut directly to St. Peter’s. If not that, then it’s a fifteen-minute walk all around the walls of the Vatican. Usually only for tour groups, but...I have some tricks up my sleeve.”

Linda grinned as they began walking toward the door. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

They approached the door, trying not to look too conspicuous, and made to slide through.

“No! No entry,” a guard said loudly, walking over quickly and waving his arms in the air.

Tessa let go of Linda and turned toward the guard, saying something rapidly in Italian and waving her hands at Linda, then at the door.  _ San Pietro...visita guidata...urgente… _

Finally, the guard nodded, though he still looked dubious, and Tessa profusely thanked him in Italian before taking Linda’s arm again and shepherding her through the door.

Into a narrow corridor, down a set of stairs, and they burst out into a little courtyard.

Once out of the museum, Linda and Tessa burst into giggles, holding each other by the arms.

“Oh my God, what did you  _ say?”  _ Linda wheezed once she’d gotten her breath back. Tessa led her through the courtyard, around the side of the church.

“I said our tour group had left us behind! Among, well, other things.”

“That was  _ fantastic.” _

“I keep telling you, I have tricks up my sleeve.”

“A whole  _ language  _ counts as a  _ trick?”  _ Linda wanted to ask just how many languages Tessa knew, but she wasn’t yet ready to hear the clipped reply that would most likely follow.

Tessa only laughed and pulled her over to a door, ushering her through to the entryway of the basilica.

They joined the crowds shuffling into the nave, past massive cherubs and water fonts made of marble. Linda had seen this place before, but was struck once again by its enormity.

She supposed that was also what made  _ aviation _ such a religious experience, in a way. The way it made you feel so small.

A little lost in thought, Linda looked aside and did a double-take. Tessa was grinning apologetically up at her from underneath a cream-colored lace veil, of the sort elderly women would wear to church in Linda’s neighborhood back in Zurich. “Old family tradition,” she gestured at her head. “We have to, every time we—I mean the women—every time we enter a church…”

“Oh! Don’t worry. Really, you don’t have to justify it, Tessa, you look—” Linda said before checking herself. “Lovely.” She’d meant to use a stronger word, but quickly remembered their surroundings and kept it to herself.

Tessa must have caught the gist of it, though, because she blushed pleasantly and looked away with a little smile.

She looked like she was going to get  _ married _ , face framed by that veil... _ Oh, come on,  _ Linda reprimanded herself.  _ It’s only been a month, you barely talk outside of planespotting, you don’t even know exactly what’s going on between you two. _

Still halfway pressed together, they negotiated their way around tour groups and pilgrims to the dome entrance, where they coughed up a few euros to board a cramped elevator car with a group of tourists chatting in Spanish.

Eventually, the lift spat them out at the base of the central dome, underneath gargantuan flower-shaped medallions. From the transept below, this part of the church was obscured in a pious sort of haze. You didn’t need to  _ know  _ what was up here, because maybe you weren’t  _ supposed  _ to know. Maybe all you could do, all they  _ wanted  _ you to do, was gaze upwards in awe and realize your own insignificance.

But from here, on a little platform going around the circumference of the dome’s base, you could see the medallions up close. Mosaics—a self-tour booklet from her first visit had told Linda that they’d used mosaics, because the incense and time would have worn them away if they’d been painted.

Words in Latin also circled the base of the dome. 

“Do you know what it means?” Linda asked Tessa, pointing down at them.

“Oh, it’s just the basic ‘You’re Peter—Rock—and I’ll build my church on you.’ Something like that. I don’t speak Latin but I know that much,” Tessa laughed at the last statement.

They stepped out onto the roof terrace and headed for a doorway leading to the stairs going up to the cupola.

“After you,” Linda gestured into the opening, letting Tessa flounce in ahead of her before chuckling and following her up the stairs.

The space was as utterly drab as it was constraining, with only an occasional grated window on the left to spruce up the surroundings. In front of her, Tessa occasionally put a hand out to touch the gently curving wall to their right. Thankfully, the staircase wasn’t too stuffy—the windows let in some of the breeze, and Linda pushed her fringe out of the way to let the wind cool her forehead.

However, the breeze had an additional side effect—Linda noticed Tessa trying to keep her skirt from blowing up once or twice before she reached up and gently held the hem down herself.

Pausing momentarily, Tessa half-turned on the stair, meeting Linda’s gaze. “Thanks!”

“You’re welcome,” Linda smiled up at her, and they continued climbing, Linda keeping an eye on Tessa’s skirt to make sure it wouldn’t blow away.

She was so engrossed in this secondary task that Linda almost didn’t notice, halfway into the climb, that Tessa had stopped until she nearly crashed into her.

“Oof—sorry,” she apologized, dropping Tessa’s hem and moving back down one step. “What’s going…?”

“Group in front of us wanted to catch their breath.” Tessa half-turned again and leaned against the curving wall to their right. She absentmindedly rapped on it. “You know what this is?”

“No.”

“It’s a dome-within-a-dome structure. Michelangelo designed it.”

“The same Michelangelo that did the Sistine Chapel?” Linda gestured back down with her thumb.

“Yeah. Man of many talents, him. He made this dome a little smaller than the one in the Pantheon—did you get to see that one?”

“Yes, I did—it’s very plain compared to this one, but then again it used to be a temple.”

“Right. Michelangelo made this dome smaller out of respect to it. And it’s also based on the dome up in Florence’s cathedral.”

“Mmm.” If she was being perfectly honest, Linda had semi-tuned out, settling for taking in Tessa’s profile against the ceiling of the passageway. She looked quite regal from this angle, but maybe that was just Linda’s view from down here.

Tessa looked away from Linda, up the staircase, and pushed off the wall. “They’re continuing.”

The passage grew narrower and narrower as they continued to climb, and the climbers’ pace dropped to prevent them from crowding up too close against each other.

“You alright still, Linda?” Tessa gasped as they neared the top, casting a glance backward momentarily.

“I’m good. You?”

“Taking comfort in the fact that we’re almost...almost there.” Tessa sounded a little winded.

“We can take a break. There’s nobody behind us that I can see or hear.”

“No, it’s okay, we’re almost there. See?”

And sure enough, the passage was ending in a door, and blue skies greeted them as they stepped onto the narrow viewing platform in the cupola, high above St. Peter’s Square.

“Oh, fantastic,” Linda murmured, stepping over to the rail and looking down at the colonnades. They enclosed the square like two massive arms guarding something between them. Pilgrims and tourists were ants far below. “Oh, Tessa, it’s lovely.”

The platform was crowded, and they pressed together once more at the rail to be as unobtrusive as possible as they slowly made their way around the cupola.

“It’s funny how we were only just down  _ there,”  _ Tessa commented, pointing downward as they shuffled to face east over the Tiber.

“Down where?”

“There. The Vatican Museum.”

“Oh, wow.” A family was trying to get through, so Tessa and Linda huddled closer at the rail, nearly on top of one another.

Linda found it a little difficult to figure out where to put her hands, but suddenly, she felt an arm snake around her waist, and she looked over to see Tessa grinning apologetically once more as she held Linda.

Smiling back and just managing to keep her composure, Linda slung an arm over Tessa’s shoulders and looked back out over the Tiber. “What’s the green space over there?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Oh, that?” Tessa pointed. “Those are the Villa Borghese gardens. Wanna stroll through those after some lunch?”

* * *

“Hard to believe we’re in the middle of the city,” Tessa leaned back against the arm of the bench and smiled at Linda.

“Right? It’s a lovely park.” Linda gazed out at the fountain they’d stopped at to rest and chat. She sighed. “You know...I really could sit here forever, if I could.”

“That’s right...I remember you saying this is your last day here?”

“Mm. Last day...I’m going back to reality tomorrow,” she joked. “But it isn’t bad,” she amended hastily. “I don’t hate my job at all...I just...well, I needed a break. And I’m glad I got one.”  _ And that I got to spend part of it with you,  _ she wanted to add, but held it back just in time.

“You know,” Tessa leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, looking up at Linda. “I don’t think I ever asked you what you...well, do? Outside of planespotting. Unless, of course, photography’s your career…”

“Oh, no, it’s just a hobby. This is going to sound...well, it’s going to make me look like I’m a one-track mind,” she gave a little self-deprecating laugh at herself before continuing, “but I’m an airline pilot. Flying the planes I photograph...that’s what I do for a living.” She looked over at Tessa, who had suddenly looked a little frozen. “Um...everything okay?”

“Yes. Oh, yes, everything’s fine. Is there something on...?” Tessa straightened up and gestured to her face.

“No, it’s just...was it something I said?”

“No, not at all,” Tessa chuckled, “don’t worry about it. Just me being silly. What airline?” she asked, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Swiss Air. It’s my second airline, they bought out my first and I transferred to Zurich...well, it’s been a while now. But I really did need the break—it’s so different from my first airline. So much bigger.”

“So you are a...captain?”

“Oh, no. Not yet. Maybe soon. I think I might have accumulated enough hours over the years...if we’re being exact...I’m coming close to 20 years flying this summer?”

“Wow,  _ really?” _

“Yeah. Started  _ really  _ young, if you’re wondering. As soon as I hit the minimum age, I was starting training, but even before that I was unofficially flying. You see, the thing about aviation...let’s just say it runs in my family and leave it at that.” She chuckled. “I’m a senior first officer right now, still. That’s where I started when I moved to Swiss Air. Not many captains are retiring off the top of the ranks, but...if Swiss Air keeps expanding, I might have a shot at a captaincy. I think I’ve been in the company long enough for it.”

“I hope you get it.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at Tessa. “How about you?”

“I wish…” Tessa started, but shook her head and looked back down at her sneakers.

“You wish…?”

“I wish I liked my job as much...as much as you do.” The last bit of her sentence came out as a sardonic half-laugh. “I wanted to be a pilot. When I was little…”

“Oh! Well...that certainly explains your passion for planespotting,” Linda smiled a little more brightly, trying desperately to lighten the mood. “And it really is never too late to le—”

“I hate my job.” Tessa wrung her hands over her sneakers, tone turning bitter. “You know, I work...the place I’ve been working at...it’s not that far from here.” She leaned back and pointed over the trees. 

“Over…” Linda craned her head before realizing Tessa wasn’t being very literal. She meant somewhere just outside the boundaries of this park. “The embassies we passed by…”

“Yeah. We walked past it. The Swiss embassy.”

“So...so you’re a diplomat?”

“Yes...no...well, I guess you could call me that.” Tessa waved a hand. “I work in international relations. That’s why I know...well...what I know, about people and places and things and history. I  _ have _ to know how to relate to everyone, somehow.” She smiled, but it hadn’t an ounce of mirth and Linda had no idea how to react to it. “I used...I used to like it, in a weird way...hopping around the world, shaking people’s hands...now I’m just tired. I’m  _ tired.”  _

Linda steeled herself, reached over, and gently took Tessa’s hand, lying limply on her lap. To her great surprise, Tessa interlocked her fingers through Linda’s and held it tightly. “I’ll be able to retire though,” Tessa continued, voice restrained. “In a few years. I just have to hold out for a little longer and then I can retire.” She turned and offered Linda a little smile. “Hopefully I’ll still be able to fly by then.”

Linda didn’t exactly know how to react. This was, after all, the first time Tessa had opened up to her in detail. She settled for rubbing circles on the back of Tessa’s hand with her thumb. “Hey. Tessa…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad...I’m glad I was able to...to help you spend some time away from it all.”

Tessa’s face melted into a gentle smile. “You know...I am too. I’m glad I found you this morning.”

“You won’t get...in trouble, though? For cancelling your whole schedule for this?”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s fine, they know me. There’s always tomorrow.” Tessa got up from the bench, still holding Linda’s hand. “The sun’s going to set soon. You know, there’s this thing here—they call it the  _ passeggiata.  _ An evening stroll. I know we’ve been walking about all day, but...we can take it slow. Maybe some dinner too? The Spanish Steps aren’t far from here.”

“I’d like that,” Linda smiled and, after shrugging her bag onto her shoulder, rose from the bench.

They crossed a few streets and raced each other to the top of the steps, out in front of an old church and an obelisk.

“It’s almost like that one movie,” Linda commented as they paused on the steps of the grand old staircase, the setting sun in their eyes. She shaded her eyes and looked out over the Piazza di Spagna. “ _ Roman Holiday, _ you know that one? With the worldly journalist taking the sheltered princess around Rome? Except I’m not taking a  _ princess _ around Rome, a  _ diplomat _ is taking  _ me _ around to see the sights.” 

“You want to head over to the Trevi Fountain next?” Tessa changed the subject. A wrinkle formed between her eyebrows, over the top of her shades. “Come on.” Not waiting for Linda to reply, she took her hand and began leading her down the Spanish Steps.

Linda rolled her eyes, but followed Tessa down the stairs to the  _ Via Propaganda. _

They weren’t the only ones enjoying an evening walk. Other couples were strolling along the traffic-free roads, murmuring quietly to each other, paths occasionally meandering as one partner steered them to look through a shop window. Groups of teenagers were chatting animatedly, their laughs echoing up and down the cobbled streets. Tourists were busy snapping photographs, some trying to catch melted drops of gelato on their wrists as their travel companions giggled at them.

On the other hand, Linda and Tessa were making their way down the street in relative silence. Linda found herself marinating in a quagmire of sheer indecision—how willing would Tessa be to talk more? Something was different between them, that was for certain: between  _ Shepherd One  _ and the Borghese gardens, something had changed. Something that had made it possible for them to wrap arms around each other at the top of a massive church. Something that had made it about ten times more awkward than usual to make eye contact over the sandwiches they’d shared for lunch. Something that had made it easy for Tessa to pour out what she’d never revealed to Linda before—something that obviously gave her a lot of pain.

_ Almost like a movie.  _ Today had almost been a movie, picture-perfect against the old buildings of Rome. A pretty woman of the continent leading the foreigner around the European city.

How much farther was Linda willing to push her luck?

Suddenly, the road they were passing through opened onto a crowded square. Most were gathered around the square’s focal point—the Trevi fountain.

Somehow, Tessa and Linda were able to fight their way to a spot next to the fountain itself, and they gazed up at the tritons and gods riding their chariots across the waves.

“Did you get to throw a coin in?” Tessa turned to Linda, a mischievous smile on her face as she opened her bag and fished around.

“I did not,” Linda replied, amused. “It’s just superstition, I don’t…”

“Oh, it’s just good fun.” Tessa pressed a euro into Linda’s palm. “One for a sure return to Rome.”

“Come on now.”

“No coins means divorced and paying alimony,” Tessa put on a pout. “Unless you want two coins, for romance?”

“Isn’t  _ this  _ romance already?” Linda took a chance, half-joking.

Tessa laughed. “That’s what  _ I _ was thinking, but—”

“Oh!” Linda faced Tessa, heart pounding. “So you—?”

Tessa nodded, still giggling. “In that case, would you want three coins?”

“What’s  _ that  _ for?”

“Marriage.”

Linda laughed. “Too fast.”

“That’s what I was thinking too. Just the one coin, then?”

“Sure.” Linda turned her back on the fountain, just as other tourists were doing around them. “It’s…”

“Right hand, over the left shoulder.”

Linda threw the coin backward and turned quickly to see it splash into the fountain. Beside her, Tessa laughed again. “Good one.”

They followed rapidly darkening streets to the Pantheon, passing by the Parliament (“I know some people there,” Tessa had said cryptically, gesturing to the well-guarded building) before surveying the Four Rivers fountain and turning toward the Campo de’ Fiori, where they ended their stroll with pizza from a small eatery in the corner of the square.

When they had finished, Tessa called a mysteriously unmarked car, assuring Linda that it was all right, and they piled inside. Linda gave the driver her hotel’s address, and he rocketed through the nighttime traffic as Tessa listened to Linda’s stories in rapt silence as they held hands in the backseat.

All too soon, the car pulled up in front of the hotel. “Really, today has been just wonderful,” Linda told Tessa. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“No, Linda, thank  _ you.”  _

“I wish...I hope we can do more of this. More  _ like  _ this, I mean. Just...spending time together that’s got nothing to do with planespotting.”

“Oh, of  _ course _ we can. And we should.” Tessa smiled, face halfway illuminated in the lights coming from the hotel lobby, then leaned forward.

She pressed a little kiss to Linda’s cheek, then pulled away, breath ghosting against the side of Linda’s face. “I’ll see you back home.” 

“See you,” Linda managed, squeezing Tessa’s hand before leaving the car. 

Looking back on the kiss, as Linda did many times in the next few minutes as she dashed up to her room, the best word she could think of to describe it was  _ tender.  _ Something tender _ ,  _ and mostly chaste, but she could sense an undercurrent running through the kiss, running through  _ Tessa _ , even, that she had never felt before.

It was entirely possible that she was hovering a few centimeters above the ground.

* * *

The next morning, after her last breakfast in Rome, Linda stepped up to the front counter and requested the bill for her stay.

After giving her room number and name, the receptionist shook her head. “There’s no outstanding balance for that guest.”

“What?” Linda asked, in the middle of pulling out a card. “I never…”

The receptionist turned the computer monitor around to face Linda. “No outstanding balance. The bill was paid earlier this morning. You’re cleared to check out.”

A kiss against her cheek. 

Linda blushed, thanked the receptionist, and went back to her room in silence to finish packing. 

She had her suspicions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> definitely didn’t watch a whole movie to write a little line of dialogue in this chapter. anyway, this chapter ran away from me, and i got way too attached to it to bring myself to break it up haha


	3. Edelweiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an understanding, and then a U-turn on the eve of a special rally.

“I’ve always liked that livery,” Tessa murmured.

“Yeah?” Linda leaned over Tessa, who was lying on her side on top of Linda’s bed, scrolling through the tablet Linda kept for her plane pictures. “Which one?”

“This one, on the A340.” She pointed at the picture, halfway looking over her shoulder as Linda propped herself up from where she’d been lying against Tessa’s back.

“Oh, Edelweiss Air? Yeah, the livery’s really cute, with the red nose and the flower on the tail.” Linda leaned down and tucked one of Tessa’s wayward curls behind her ear. Tessa giggled and shook her head a little, tickled by the brush of Linda’s fingers against her face. “Isn’t it Switzerland’s official flower? Edelweiss? Or is that Austria?”

“Not an _official_ flower here, but I think Austria has it as an official national symbol.”

“Is it because of _Sound of Music?”_ Linda smirked, knowing the answer already.

Tessa turned over, looking up at Linda, and rolled her eyes. “No, _silly._ It’s because _Franzi_ went on a little hike in the 1860s and gave his wife a flower, and _then_ it became famous. Not because of...that movie.” She wrinkled up her nose momentarily. “Why you _continue_ to rile me up in this fashion, I am frankly mystified.”

Linda laughed at her. “Because you’re not _really_ annoyed, because you like it when you get going about insignificant points of history, and because you’re really cute. What was his wife called again? You told me once, when we met up in Vienna…”

“Sissi? Elisabeth?”

“Yeah, her. You kind of look like her, at least in that picture where she had the edelweiss flowers in her hair. Maybe you're related.”

“I’ve been told. I don’t have the hair, though, that was just so _impractical,”_ Tessa sniffed critically. “It’s the Bavarian in me, I guess,” she continued. Though she was still smiling a little, her tone had taken on a more guarded quality. Linda internally groaned. _Not again…_

“Someday,” Tessa was saying, changing the subject again, “when I get married, though, I’d like edelweiss flowers in my hair.”

“You know, Tessa…”

“What is it?”

“We really need to talk.”

The joking, affectionate smile started to slip from Tessa’s face, but she held it just in time. “Talk...about?”

“This...well, this _relationship,_ or whatever it is...it’s been going on for.” Linda tried to recall. “How long? A month and a half since Rome, yeah?”

Tessa nodded slowly.

“Tessa...I still barely know anything about you. And...and it’s really frustrating that I don’t. And...I’ve been feeling that way—frustrated, I mean—for ages now. At first I thought it was a matter of…I thought it was a problem with me. That it was my fault. Maybe I was taking things too fast. Being intrusive.”

Tessa fidgeted with the edge of Linda’s quilt, face steadily freezing over. The same expression she had worn when Linda had told her she was an airline pilot.

“But...it really wasn’t about me. It _isn’t_ about me at all, actually.” Linda took a deep breath and shifted. Her arm was becoming numb from propping up her head. “Ever since we’ve started being...well, who we are...I’ve noticed some things. Tessa—I’ve truly never had this much fun, or laughed so hard, or gone on so many adventures with a single person before, the way we’ve been...the way we’ve been enjoying each other's company. I’m happy when I’m with you. I really am.”

“But…?” Tessa’s voice was small, but steady.

Linda looked away, then back at Tessa, taking the prompt as an invitation to continue. “But I’ve noticed that whenever we’re together, it’s like you always need to have the upper hand or it doesn’t happen at all. It’s like you always have to be one step ahead of me in virtually every respect. Honestly...I don’t feel like I have much of a choice, because it _always_ has to be _you_ calling the shots. Everything has to be on _your_ terms and…more often than not, I don’t feel like I have any agency at all. In this relationship, at least.”

“...But what does that have to do…”

“I’m not done.” Linda endeavored to keep her tone steady. “It’s not just the time we spend together where you just _need_ to have control. You never talk about yourself. At all. Unless you’re forced to. But you want to hear everything about _me._ Has it ever occurred to you that _I_ might want to ask you more about yourself without feeling like a terrible person for it?”

Tessa massaged her forehead and looked away, a pained expression on her face.

“I don’t even know where you _live,”_ Linda laughed mirthlessly. “Months of knowing you, a month of this relationship, and I don’t even know if you have somewhere to call home. All I know is that you have _somewhere_ to sleep, because I always have you text me once you’ve arrived there safely. You’re the only person on this continent I’m close to, Tessa. What if there’s an emergency? What am I going to do?” She gulped. “And even that aside—Tessa, I really...what I want is...I want to do things with _you_ for once. The real you. Not just Tessa, the planespotter. Not just Tessa, the diplomat or the tour guide. You, Tessa. Just...you.”

Linda slumped over, her arm giving up trying to support her head, unable to meet Tessa’s eyes. Instead, her gaze was fixed on Tessa’s hand. It rested on the curve of her hip as Tessa lay on her side facing her. “Do...do you understand?”

Tessa visibly swallowed, then looked back at Linda and nodded. “Yes. I...I understand. Listen...I’m sorry. I’m really sorry I have that much of a heavy hand on—on us. I never realized it.”

Linda let all her breath out in one go, a shaking sigh of relief. Talking like this...really, was it supposed to be this easy to get on the right page? “Thank you. I’m...I’m glad we both understand now.” Tessa managed a wavering smile, and Linda got up. “Want some water, Tessa?”

“Yes please.”

As Linda poured them a glass of water each, she asked, “Are you free this weekend? I’m going to be going out of town with my rallying team. I’d like to take you along. I mean, it’s not exactly planespotting at Zurich airport, but I think you’d be interested.”

“I could be free then, yes,” Tessa said, nodding as she accepted her glass. She drank a bit and set the water aside onto a table. “What’ll you be doing? Where will we be going?”

Linda settled into a chair and sipped some water before replying. “It’s really unique, actually. We’ve been invited to participate in a cross-country amateur rally. Which is unusual because amateur clubs don’t normally get cross-country rallies. But anyway.” She waved a hand. “That’s not what you asked. It’s going to be across this super tiny country. A little over sixty miles from here, I think? It’s called Liechtenstein. Like _super_ tiny. I think it said on Wikipedia that it’s only got an area of something like—”

“Linda.”

“Mm, dear?” Linda stuttered to a stop. Tessa had suddenly turned a rather pasty hue. “Oh my God. You okay?”

Tessa nodded a little absently before scrambling into a sitting position on the edge of Linda’s bed. 

“Oh. Tessa, you probably shouldn’t—you don’t look well at _all.”_ Linda bolted to her feet, suddenly afraid Tessa would pass out. “You should lie back for a bit—I can always change out the sheets, I don’t mind. Or have some water. Maybe you’re dehy…” Linda offered her the glass of water, but Tessa shook her head. “Well then, lie down at least.” Linda pulled some of her pillows over.

“I can’t.”

Linda froze. “You can’t. Lie down?”

Tessa shook her head slowly, and Linda leaned over her, putting a hand to Tessa’s head. Tessa jerked out of her reach and looked up at her, a stricken expression on her face. “I can’t come with you. I’m...I'm sorry. Not there.”

Linda froze before stepping away. “To...to _Liechtenstein?_ You can’t come to Liechtenstein with me?” Off Tessa’s slow shake of her head, she crouched at Tessa’s knees and looked up, trying to read her face. “What? What’s wrong? Is there...did something happen...is it the country? Is it something wrong with the…”

“No!” Tessa vigorously shook her head, and Linda sat back on her heels, startled and a tiny bit hurt. “I...I...it’s nothing to do with the country, and it’s _nothing_ to do with you.”

“Then what?” Linda placed her hand on Tessa’s knee. “What’s wrong? Tessa—Tessa, I love you, okay? You know I do, for all your—”

Tessa began to shake her head again, slower this time, and Linda lost control of her tone. “—your eccentricities and your...your _secrets._ At least...at least let me in on this one. _Please._ All I want to do is _help—!”_

Whatever Tessa wanted to interject was interrupted by a ringing phone. Tessa’s, by the sound of the ringtone.

They sat frozen, staring at each other as the phone rang once, twice, three times. Linda hoped, for one wild and desperate moment, that Tessa would let the call ring out and go to voicemail, and that she would, for once, let Linda in…

On the fourth ring, Tessa dove for the phone and answered. _“Sponheim hier. Was ist los?”_

Linda collapsed back onto the floor with a sigh of defeat, then rose slowly to get herself a drink of water. 

Tessa spoke in German, her voice low as she conversed, and Linda was too upset even to bother to try and translate.

Finally, Tessa said, _“Dankä. Tschüss,”_ and Linda turned to see her get up, shrugging her coat on and picking up her bag. 

“We can’t even talk about your...your U-turn?” Linda asked quietly. “Like two adults, we can’t even sit and talk about that? You can’t explain yourself, you get a convenient phone call, and just like that, you have to go?”

Tessa nodded meekly. “It’s nothing to do with you, I promise. I want to stay, but it’s…”

“Something you can’t talk about.”

“Linda...Linda, I’m sorry. I really am…”

“Yeah. You know what, I get it. Diplomat stuff. Politics stuff. Stuff you can’t talk about. Yourself you can’t talk about. Really, I get it. You should go.” Linda turned back around, pretending to arrange magazines on the table to hide her slowly reddening face. “I wouldn’t have kept you had I known you had other obligations.”

“I’m sorry, it only just came up…”

“You should go, actually, if you have to be somewhere else. I have an early morning.” Linda looked down at her hands and sucked her lips in. 

A long silence passed, and Linda thought Tessa had left: but suddenly, a quiet voice.

 _“Ich liebe dich,_ Linda. _Es tut mir leid...Uf Widerluege.”_

The door closed softly behind Tessa, and Linda collapsed back into her chair, face falling into her hands.

* * *

Linda pushed the remains of her sausage idly around her plate, head propped on one hand as she observed the rest of her team chatting raucously. Having finished a day of route reconnaissance (where drivers and co-drivers were allowed to take a slow run of the whole course and make pacenotes as to its eccentricities), she and her navigator had returned to base in the capital city of Vaduz. The organizers had set up a night for the residents and teams to mingle for pre-rally revelry.

Linda wasn’t in the mood to revel.

She pulled a cup of orange juice toward her (obviously not at all imbued with anything, she’d be driving some hours from now) and cast a glance at her new co-driver, Pascal. He was remarkably skilled and knew his way around an engine better than most, but sometimes, she couldn’t help but miss Sam. She’d gotten too used to her.

Linda shook her head to herself and followed a bite of sausage with a sip of juice.

“What is it, Linda?” Janna, one of the mechanics on the team, put her plate on the long table and sat across from her. “Is it your sausage? Is it the _Wurst_ you’ve ever had?” She snickered at her own joke.

“Aw, _Janna,”_ most of the team groaned.

“Hey, Linda,” Rocco, the head mechanic, called down the table. “What about that ‘special someone’ you said you’d wanted to bring along?”

“Oooo, Linda,” Werner teased, leaning over and earning himself a smack on the arm from Giulia. “Hey!”

“I asked. She said yes, and then she said no. No idea why.” Linda morosely swirled what was left of her juice in the cup.

A cacophony of disappointed interjections rose up from the group. “Sorry, Linda,” Werner apologized. “Didn’t know…”

“‘S fine. Thanks.” Linda shoved the last bite of sausage into her mouth and downed the last of her juice. “I think I’m going to go to bed now.”

“So soon?” Giulia asked. “The night is young.”

“And I am not. I’m an old lady, I keep a bedtime.”

“Oh, come on, you aren’t _that_ old,” Pascal laughed. “I’m older than you.”

Linda sighed and stacked her plastic up on the plate. “Where’s the bin?”

“Just by the door. You sure you’re going?” Janna put her phone down, a concerned look on her face.

“Yeah. Pascal?”

“Mm?”

“The pacenotes are in your bag, right?”

“Yes, they are—oh, Linda, don’t tell me you’re going to bed just to read _pacenotes.”_

“I am and I will.”

The night air in Vaduz was chilly, and Linda shoved her hands in her pockets as she left the pub and walked down the lane. Her team had rented an entire guesthouse to themselves and it wasn’t too far from the pub they’d chosen for the night.

Alone with her thoughts on the cobblestones, Linda walked slowly. Occasionally she cast glances up at the neat houses lining the street. Somewhere in those houses, people were probably sitting together, talking of the racing they’d see the following day. Or if not, just enjoying each other’s company.

Linda dragged her gaze away from the alpine buildings and focused on Vaduz castle, just visible atop a hill ahead of her. It was floodlit, and stood out against the Alps and the velvet-lined sky above.

Suddenly, a car horn sounded from behind, and Linda jumped, flattening herself against a wall.

An electric car with heavily tinted windows barreled over the cobblestone toward her, racing up the street in the direction of the castle.

Staring after it as it vanished around a corner, Linda frowned. That car was probably one of the last on the road—they were all supposed to close for the next day’s race. Maybe it was headed toward the castle. Linda disengaged herself from the wall and continued her journey back to the guesthouse, trying to distract herself from her loneliness by remembering the facts she’d gleaned from her perusal of the Liechtenstein Wikipedia entry, trying to get a read on the geography before their arrival. 

Apparently this country still had a monarchy. She wondered whether the royal family would be watching the race. Some teams had said that members of the royal family were mingling among the partygoers back in the Vaduz town center.

The rest of the team could party if they wanted to. Linda simply wasn’t in the mood.

Sighing, Linda approached the door of their guesthouse and let herself in.

After showering and brushing her teeth, Linda crawled into her bunk with Pascal’s pacenotes and her phone. Scrolling through her messages, she worked her fingers through damp hair and debated texting Tessa to see if she was still up. She hadn’t seen Tessa since the night they’d had their talk and had barely messaged her since—she’d gotten too busy with practice for this rally. Finally, she shook her head and put away the phone.

She wished she knew why Tessa had been so violently averse to coming to Liechtenstein with her, but Linda immediately shut herself down. _Just goes to show how much unrequited effort you’re putting into this._ For all Linda knew, Tessa was elsewhere, with other people, and not thinking about her at all.

Briefly considering throwing her phone across the room, Linda settled for burrowing into the bedsheets and reading the pacenotes out loud to herself in a hushed murmur before sleep overtook her weary mind and body.

Race day was bright and sunny, with nary a cloud to hint at any sort of wet conditions in the future. Linda’s team was given a relatively early start time, however, and she walked out of their staging tent at the Service Park to see the mechanics quickly coaxing their car to warm up in the frigid alpine air.

“You ready?” Pascal came up behind her, clapping her over the shoulder with an ungloved hand.

“As much as I’ll ever be,” Linda muttered, crouching to check the pressure of her left back tire and pulling on her gloves.

“You’ll be _fine._ Just have fun out there. Should be a fun course.”

“Mm.” Linda straightened back up, adjusting the cuffs of her fire suit.

“Linda, Pascal.” Giulia jogged over to them. “Werner and I’ve just finished your helmets. He’ll be right out to tell you more about them.”

Werner sprinted over, a helmet tucked under each arm. “Right,” he said breathlessly, handing off the helmets to Linda and Pascal. “I tried to integrate the intercoms more smoothly into the helmets. I recall you had complaints about it failing during practice—hopefully they won’t this time.”

“Thanks, Werner,” Pascal replied for them both, sliding on his helmet. Linda was already adjusting her microphone. After a quick sound check, they bid farewell to Giulia and Werner and went back to the car to speak with the mechanics.

“How’s she doing, Rocco?” Linda leaned over the hood next to the head mechanic as he completed a last-minute tightening.

“All warm and ready to go.” Rocco pocketed a wrench and turned to face her. “And you?”

“The same.” Linda tried to smile, but Rocco didn’t quite return it.

“Mind yourself, okay? Mind yourself and the car. I...you’re very obviously upset. Anyone can read it like it’s been written on your forehead in marker. Be _careful._ Just have fun out there, and drive. Okay?”

Rocco opened the driver’s door, not leaving room for Linda to object, and ushered her into her seat. He left her to adjust her harness just as the announcer called for their team to make their way to the starting line.

Linda and Pascal buckled themselves in and waved at the rest of their team before Linda put the car in gear and slowly drove to the start line.

“Now beginning their first stage,” an announcer called out over the loudspeakers as Pascal got approval from race officials. “Team _Céleste_ of Zurich, Switzerland with an Albatros Mark V. Driven by Ms Linda Fairbairn with navigator Mssr. Pascal Blanc.”

Applause and cheers rose from the spectators as Linda rolled up the windows and sat just in front of the digital timer.

“Two minutes, on my count.” Pascal lay a hand on Linda’s arm. “Loose and steady, okay?”

“Yes.”

“Just drive. I’ll direct you every step of the way.”

“Sure.”

Against her better wishes, she remembered the top of the dome in the Vatican City, a diplomat clinging to her waist, Linda’s arm wrapped over her shoulders.

“One minute.”

Tessa should have been here today. Linda had wanted this to be a new chapter for them. A turned page.

“Thirty seconds.” Pascal gripped the first page of his pacenotes.

She wasn’t here. She didn’t _want_ to be here, and Linda didn’t understand why. She didn’t understand much about Tessa, in the end, and maybe it wasn’t worth trying to anymore.

“Fifteen.”

Linda’s gloved hands tightened on the wheel, and she began looking ahead to where the road first curved out of Vaduz town.

“Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six.”

Linda’s foot inched toward the accelerator, hand ready to switch gears.

“Five. Four. Three. Two. One. _Start!”_

Linda put her whole weight into the car, coaxing it up to speed.

The beeches flew past them, one after the other, and they were off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was originally supposed to be combined with the final chapter, but i broke it up because it would have become way too long of a chapter, and i didn’t want to spring an excruciatingly long one on you. but it will not be long until _that_ reveal, though, i promise! we already know what it is tbh, so i’m sorry to drag this out so far and for keeping you waiting!


	4. Regularity I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That was your fastest time yet. If you keep driving like this, you may just wind up on the podium. I’m lightening you up so you’ll look good for the cameras...Remind me to get you on the road after your next breakup.”
> 
> "It wasn't even a breakup."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know when you're writing and whatever you're writing runs away from you? because that's what's happening here. welcome to the last chapter of this work, part 1.

_ “Idiots _ standing too close to the  _ road!”  _ Pascal grumbled into his microphone.

“Horn in this thing.” Linda let the car rev down the secluded Liechtenstein road, and the few curious spectators standing along it darted out of their way, their movements slow compared to the speeding car. 

“Too much weight.” Linda could hear paper rustling as Pascal rearranged his pacenotes. “100 fork, take the right for a caution right 3 plus, caution for  _ right  _ 3 plus.”

“Caution for right 3 plus.” Linda always parroted some of her co-driver’s pacenotes back at him—a habit carried over from flying. She took the right when the road forked and shifted into a higher gear to take an immediate right turn into a switchback, hugging the side of the mountain as she came out of the turn and hurtled down to the next. Linda was a little more judicious than usual, not wanting to lose control of the car over the edge of the road and into the Rhein valley below. Picturesque as it was, she thought it would be better off if they got to the valley—and the finish line of this rally—by the marked route. 

Also with the car in one piece.

The drivers too. 

Linda and Pascal navigated their way down the switchback without spinning out, nearing the end of their stage as they whisked by forests filled with thick undergrowth.

“300 flat to crest into left 4, 200 finish,” Pascal read as Linda came out of the last switchback.

“Flat crest into left 4. 200 finish.” Linda punched the accelerator to bring the car up to full speed over the hill looming ahead in the windshield; once over the obstruction, she switched gears up and pushed the car into a sharp left turn past a crop of wildflowers. 

“200 finish,” Pascal reminded her, but Linda had already spotted the flying finish station and was urging the car on towards it.

“Finish,” Pascal called out, and Linda blasted through the flying finish marker before bringing the car’s speed down and approaching the checkered flag at the stop point, where officials were waiting with timepieces and paperwork to consult Pascal.

While Pascal compared and verified information with the stop control officials, Linda slipped out of the car to stretch her legs and wait for their designated restart time. With a gusty sigh, she flopped down in the gravel by the side of the road and crossed her legs, looking down at a patch of wildflowers growing there. She thought of edelweiss for a second, then shook her head. Edelweiss didn’t grow down here, it grew higher up, probably at one of the stations they’d already passed through.

Liechtenstein was by no means a large country—only about 15 miles north to south, if she remembered what Wikipedia had told her—and Linda had been initially skeptical of how possible a rally would be, given that it usually ran in stages of almost 30 miles each.

But she had to admit that the organizers had done a creative job, having the drivers alternate exceptionally short stages using narrow country roads in the north and south of the country and switching over at points near the Swiss and Austrian borders. Most of the stages (save for a northern one running through a moor) were in the mountains, giving them a challenge with road grade. And each stage was slightly different from the rest—during an earlier stage, Pascal had instructed Linda to take the left fork into a narrow mountain pass instead of the right one down to the valley she’d used this time.

Suddenly, Linda remembered she needed to call the team in the service area farther north in the valley, and she got back up from her seat.

Retrieving her radio, she dialed up the service team and prayed the signal was good.

“Linda here,” she called into her microphone, sitting back down in the gravel and absentmindedly running her hand through the grasses.

“Linda? Hello! Everything okay?” Rocco picked up.

“Just finished the twelfth stage. Car’s doing okay. I think it learned from the switchbacks we had to do a while back.”

Rocco chuckled. “Good. If it interests you at all, the  _ Rêverie _ 3M team is  _ years  _ behind you. They’ve been melting down ever since their drivers came back with an engine grinding worse than I did with the first bird I ever picked up in university.”

“That is a disturbing image, and I hate you for putting it in my head,” Linda grimaced. “I’m contemplating telling your wife. This is no way to treat your driver.”

“What can I say? I’m trying to lighten you up a little more—if the numbers are right, you are driving like one possessed.”

“Is that a good thing, or a bad thing? I haven’t talked to Pascal.”

“That was your fastest time yet. If you keep driving like this, you may just wind up on the podium. I’m lightening you up so you’ll look good for the cameras.” Rocco laughed again. “Remind me to get you on the road after your next breakup.”

“It wasn’t even a breakup,” Linda plucked a blade of grass from the patch next to her and rolled it between her thumb and forefinger. “And I don’t think that’s at all recommended, by any driving school on the planet, ever. Listen, Rocco,” she looked back at Pascal and the officials. “I’ll call you back when we get through the next stage. Not reporting any problems with the car. If anything happens before the next stage, Pascal and I will take care of it.”

“Good luck out there!”

“Thanks, Rocco.” Linda stood up, threw away her blade of grass, and sidled over to the car.

After chatting with the officials, they were given a new start time and checked over the car before sliding inside, buckling up, and waiting for their turn on the stage.

Pascal counted down from ten, and within a second, Linda had left the alpine station far behind them.

“Fifty right 2 minus, flat for double caution jump.”

“Fifty right 2 minus.” Linda shifted down a gear and took the easy turn, then prepared for the jump. She needed the extra speed to clear the crest.

“Double caution jump,” Pascal shouted again, holding on tightly to his pacenotes as Linda accelerated out of the turn.

Something changed underneath Linda’s hands, and she gripped the wheel tighter, trying to figure out what was happening before she hit the jump.

“What’s happening?” Pascal demanded, holding on to a panic handle. “Something’s off, Linda.”

Suddenly, as she urged the car faster and felt the car slipping out of her control, she realized.

“Pascal! _ ”  _ Linda lost her cool and screamed back, shifting her weight so she was pushing her wheel forward. “The steering. I think I did something wrong with the steering—”

Too late. They were sailing through the air.

Linda flattened herself into her seat underneath her five-point harness and cursed herself into the deepest recesses of the netherworld. Her hesitation was inevitably going to cost them—she probably hadn’t gotten the wheels up to the right velocity to keep the car traveling forward and stable. Already, she could sense them beginning to tilt downward.  _ “OhmyGODPascal, _ I’m so sorry Pascal! Brace!”

“Wha—”

Due to some cosmic miracle, they managed to land on their front wheels. A hard landing, but a landing nevertheless.

Linda let out a whoop and hit the throttle to make up for lost time. “Never mind! Taking that back! We’re  _ alive!”  _ As she accelerated, she laughed madly to herself and waited for her next instructions. They were still in the rally. It was going to be okay.

But Pascal didn’t reply.

“Pascal?  _ Pascal.” _

No response.

Linda dropped their speed on the thus-far straight road and chanced a glance to her side. “Pas _ cal! _ Are you  _ dead?  _ What’s next!”

Pascal was staring back at her, face white and framed by his helmet, mouthing something.

“What! Are you saying! Are you  _ HURT?”  _ Linda yelled at him.

Pascal pulled in a huge breath and shouted back, “THE... _ INTERCOM! GONE!”  _

“The WHAT?”

“THE INTERCOM!  _ BROKEN!  _ KA _ PUT!” _

“Oh my GOD!” Linda stared back through her windshield, her previous feeling of security completely gone. “THEN ABBREVIATE.” She tried desperately to remember this stage from their reconnaissance run and urged the car on.

“SIXTY RIGHT FIVE!”

Linda shifted gears up and made the turn, feeling the car drift as she oversteered. Muttering a curse, she quickly compensated for lost time and rocketed down to the next turn. 

This was their penultimate stage, and Linda knew their finish point was in a town called Balzers. Maybe they could get someone to help them with the intercom there while they fixed the steering—the last stage used more public roads up to Vaduz, and Linda didn’t feel like driving up there without guidance if she could help it.

“TRIPLE CAUTION FIFTY LEFT SIX NARROWS TO BRIDGE FOR FLAT TO CREST!”

“LEFT  _ SIX?”  _ Linda shouted over the roar of the engine, horrified, but she knew it was too late for Pascal to clarify his pacenotes. She had no choice but to shift up and take the turn, praying that she’d heard his instructions right and that they wouldn’t run off the road.

Their tires protested loudly as Linda skidded into the left turn, then managed to steer the car into a narrow bridge spanning a small creek while simultaneously accelerating over the lip that the crest in the road made. 

“TRIPLE CAUTION SEVENTY RIGHT SIX MINUS!”

Linda kicked up the gear, slowed down, and made the turn, praying again that the steering would not give out on her. 

Suddenly, as they came out of the turn, the car tilted over onto two wheels, and Linda cursed again, frantically spinning her wheel in the other direction to prevent them from rolling. At the periphery of her vision, she spotted a few spectators—who’d probably come to watch them leave the mountainous portion of the course for the final time—running far away from their path. 

The car made an almighty crash as it fell back on its four wheels, but Linda mercilessly pushed it forward, knowing they’d soon reach Balzers town and their penultimate checkpoint. 

“ONE HUNDRED FINISH,” Pascal read, his voice cracking and coming as a hoarse howl.

Ignoring the suspicious protestations of their Albatros Mark V, Linda forced the vehicle forward and sped toward the finish with everything she had in her. 

And finally, they were through—Linda quickly brought the car to a stop and slipped out to the cheers of the few residents standing by the stop marker. She tugged off her helmet, tossed it aside, and reached for the toolkit they kept on board. “I’ll take care of the repairs. You talk to the officials.” Linda slipped out some wrenches and began to tighten the steering wheel.

“Linda, I’ll—” Pascal caught her arm, his voice a husk of a whisper. “I’ll do the repairs,  _ you  _ talk to the officials.”

She froze. “Oh my God, Pascal, I forgot. I’m sorry. You sound horrible.”

“Yeah, I know.” Pascal accepted the toolkit from her and slipped into the car to work in her seat. 

“I’ll see if I can find you some tea or something as well, so you can get your voice back.”

“Thanks.”

She wrenched her gloves off and tossed them in the back, wiping her hands on her racing suit as she watched the officials approach them. Her hands were shaking. 

Linda let out a querulous breath. They had come so close to totaling. They had come so close to not finishing. They could have even died. One wrong turn, one misinterpreted pacenote after the intercom had given out, and they could have ended up rolling down the side of a ditch.

She’d never driven like this in her life. 

Rocco was right—she was driving differently in this competition. Taking more risks. Pushing herself and the car to limits she’d never thought possible. When she reflected back on this race, she could only recall cold resolve. Something cold and distant from the car, and from the road. Which wasn’t to say Linda was  _ absent,  _ heavens no. But something was different about this race.

Had Tessa really prompted this much of a change in her?

Linda grabbed the paperwork off Pascal’s seat and went to compare notes with the officials.

“Hello,” she started, holding out the time card and their clock.

“ _ Céleste,  _ correct? Linda Fairbairn.” an official nodded brusquely, taking the time card and examining it.

“Yes. That’s us. And that’s me.” Linda crossed her arms and stood back. “We’ll be refilling before the last stage. Our intercom’s also shot. We’re going to have to call our team from Vaduz to come and help us fix it.”

The officials looked at each other for a second over the paperwork, then back at Linda. “Excuse us a moment?” the first official asked before turning away.

A little confused, Linda only stood by the car, stomping her feet to get the blood flowing through them. The officials were quietly conferring with each other. Occasionally they cast glances at Linda, the car, and Pascal’s rear end as he hung halfway out of the driver’s side, tightening the steering wheel into place.

Linda settled for turning halfway around and surveying the peaks they’d left behind, rearing snow-capped heads against the clear sky.

Finally, she turned back to see the officials coming back toward her, and she straightened up to her full height, having a vague feeling that she’d need it.

“We’d like to know something about your intercom system,” a different official said, handing back their time card and paperwork. “If you don’t mind. The quicker we can settle this, the less likely it’ll be you’ll get a time penalty.”

“A time penalty! Whatever for?”

“You said you needed a refill along with...whatever your driver is doing.” Another official pointed at Pascal, who wiggled out of the car and gazed bemusedly over in their direction.

“I’m driving. He’s my navigator.” Linda jerked a thumb backwards at Pascal. “We are...he was just tightening the steering wheel. And he’s  _ going to do the refill right now very quickly _ ,” she added loudly, sending a pointed look at the aforementioned.

“Huh? Oh, yes, that’s right.” Pascal hurriedly closed the door and scurried off to find some fuel.

“Hm. Well, in that case, about your intercom.”

“Yes.”

“Is it...built into the car?”

Linda shook her head slowly, a little confused by this line of questioning. “No.”

“What’s the nature of the...malfunction?”

“Not really a malfunction. It was a failure. It quit entirely on us after we took a hard landing early in the stage.”

“Hm. Okay.” The officials looked at each other, then the first one spoke up, putting his hands behind his back. “As your intercom is not part of the car, as you stated...it cannot be considered part of the car’s  _ system.  _ The Road Book for this competition only stipulates that parts of a car’s system can be switched out at the service entry. Calling your team here to Balzers would set back your start time and incur a time penalty.”

“What?” Linda leaned forward. “I’ve been rallying for years, I’ve never heard of such a rule.”

“It was instituted for this competition.”

Linda resisted the urge to scoff. Nobody needed the situation to escalate. “I ask because I’m concerned about not being able to hear my navigator for the last stage. He has been shouting his head off all the way down your mountains. He’d be talking to you now, but he sounds horrible.”

The officials cast glances at each other again. “Another team has already received a DNF,” one said finally. “We have already set the precedent.”

Linda sighed. “Then at least could my co-driver have a drink? Like tea? Or something? I read that soup is a big part of your cuisine?”

A few minutes later, Linda marched over to the car with a styrofoam cup of soup. Someone in the nearby village had been very fortunately finishing up a batch for lunch and had given Linda some. Apparently it was a local specialty, with little dumplings floating in the broth, but Linda had no idea how Pascal would be able to enjoy them properly.

“Here, Pascal.” Linda leaned over the hood and offered him the cup.

“What’s this?” Pascal rasped, accepting it from her.

“I don’t remember the name. But it’s soup.”

“Mmm. Smells good,” he remarked, then bolted some down and choked a little. He turned an affronted look to Linda. “Are you trying to  _ kill  _ me?”

“Is it that good?” Linda worked on her gloves, one finger at a time. 

“I mean, it is good, but you didn’t warn me that there were  _ dumplings  _ in it?” He chewed furiously and turned away, fanning himself. “Oh God, this is actually hot.”

“Oops, sorry about that. Freshly made in the village. If we pull through the last stage unscathed, I’ll see if we can come back here for more. How did you not notice the dumplings, by the way? You didn’t even look inside the cup I gave you?”

“No,” Pascal gasped, bolting down more soup.

“You’d be too easy to poison,” Linda scoffed, sliding on her helmet.

“Wait, why’ve you got your helmet on?” Pascal protested. “Relax. Aren’t we getting the intercoms replaced?”

“Well, Pascal, I’ve got some bad news. We’re going have to make the final push to Vaduz without intercoms.”

“Without—wait,  _ what?” _

“They said we couldn’t call over the team to get our intercoms changed.”

“That’s such bullshit.” Pascal dropped his tone.

“They said another team’s already been given a DNF on similar grounds. I checked. Their Road Book’s different.”

Pascal rolled his eyes. “At least it’s not offroad.”

“I can only be grateful for that.” Linda leaned inside the car and grabbed her gloves. “Just give me the essential information. I didn’t want to drive up to Vaduz without pacenotes, but...if I have to, I can tolerate it.”

“Right. It’s all paved roads up through Triesen to Vaduz. It’ll almost be like a regularity rally.”

“But under no obligations for time-speed-distance,” Linda smiled wryly. “No secret stations, no check-in questions to make sure we didn’t take it too fast. And no other cars on the road.”

“Well, yes.” Pascal tipped back the last of his soup. “They’ve given us a start time?”

Soon, they were back in the car, heading toward the start point and a new timer.

Pascal counted her down, and Linda shot out of Balzers town on the last stage of the rally.

More spectators had come to line the road leading north through Balzers, then Triesen. Pascal was right—it did feel more like a regularity rally than a stage rally, if only because they were on a flat stretch of road. Green fields stretched out on either side, past the little groups of people cheering them on as they shot past, before running into foothills. 

Linda let the speed hover above the 100-mph mark as they left the outskirts of the village and settled into the country road.

“It’s like a road trip,” she said to nobody in particular. “Just a nice road trip.”

“Very fast road trip!” Pascal commented, hanging on. “Triesen coming up.”

“Right.” Linda dropped her speed slightly to negotiate the inevitable turns she’d need to take through the next village.

As they left Triesen behind and made the final push to Vaduz, Linda sped up again and wished—not for the first time, and certainly not for the last—that she was cruising along these well-maintained roads at a much more normal speed with a certain diplomat in the passenger's seat.

The closer they got to Vaduz, the closer the road pressed to the foothills. More people were gathered along the side of the roads to watch them come in. Cameras followed their car as it rocketed up the valley toward Vaduz’s city center.

“Shall I give a tour,” Pascal said nonchalantly over the engine roar. “On your right we have the local cathedral. St. Florin’s, see it? It’s up against the foot of that hill. And on top of the hill’s the castle.”

“How pleasant.” Linda casually made a slight left turn past the cathedral and passed under a bridge connecting a parking structure to the visitors’ center. Spectators were gathered on the bridge, yelling their heads off as their flag fluttered in the breeze.

“One hundred finish,” Pascal called out at the modern art museum, and Linda blasted through the flying finish before bringing the car to a stop past the designated stop control, set up at a point underneath the castle.

Rolling down the windows as the officials cleared them and the rest of their team ran over to the car, she could hear spectators cheering, the sound of noisemakers and—were those cowbells?—filling the midday air.

Opening the door, she slipped out of the car to meet the rest of the team.

“You did it!” Rocco shouted delightedly, putting up his hands, and Linda smiled back and slapped them. “You’re absolutely insane, but you did it!”

“How was our time?” Linda yelled back to Pascal.

“Really good!” Pascal was laughing hoarsely. “Really, really good. Don’t test our good fortune, though.”

“Give ‘em a wave,” Rocco ordered, stepping away to examine the vehicle.

Eventually, they got the car back to the Service Park, and Linda found herself with a free afternoon to spend as they waited for the rest of the competitors to return to base.

Alone in the darkened communal bathroom back in the guesthouse and with Giulia on guard outside, she slipped out of the dusty suit and race shoes she’d worn for the past half-day and simply stood barefoot in an athletic camisole and leggings, staring blankly into space.

If she imagined it for a moment, she could feel herself tilting, the grip of gravity loosening. Floating in midair, for a second, as the car rolled around her.

It should have been like flying, but it was nothing like it at all.

After showering, Linda pulled over a towel and dried her face and neck, down under her arms. She closed her eyes, the terry cloth meeting her dripping back. This was a job better done by someone else, but…

Linda shook her head, finished the job, and balled up the soiled clothes in one end of the bathroom before retrieving new clothes and a spare racing suit.

As she adjusted her belt, Giulia poked her head inside. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just finishing up.” Linda poked the end of her belt through the loop and left the bathroom. “Sorry I took a while, is Pascal still waiting?”

“Nah, he asked the innkeeper if they kept a hose and just. Hosed himself off in the yard.”

“No way.” Linda dumped the clothes into her travel hamper, slipped on sneakers, and jammed her phone and billfold into her pockets.

“Believe it. Gave the neighbors a fright.”

“Of course he did.” Linda chuckled, picking up her team baseball cap. “Ready?”

“Absolutely.”

* * *

The race organizers had set up large screens around town displaying a rolling board of the teams still in the running.

For much of the afternoon, Linda watched as the numbers shifted and teams swapped places on the board, with occasional live updates. A flat tire pulled Nelson/Roy down from their podium finish. A DNF for Russell/Sora after losing the course. The one set of names that remained constant?

Fairbairn/Blanc, squarely in second place behind a much more well-known amateur team.

Rocco hadn’t been wrong when he’d predicted a podium finish over the ham radio. It was gearing up to be Linda’s first with this new team, and they were all delighted—but she would have been much more pleased with herself had the circumstances been different.

For her part, poking around the capital city and having seen much of the country (essentially the whole thing) by car, Linda couldn’t understand why Tessa had refused to come along with her. The locals were friendly, the food was delicious, and that wasn’t even mentioning the picturesque scenery.

As Linda gratefully accepted some  _ Rösti  _ from the proprietor of an open-air eatery, a fellow driver leaned across the table and demanded, “How on  _ earth  _ did you do it? I heard you had an intercom failure.”

“It didn’t happen until the second-to-last stage,” Linda explained, picking up a fork. “And even then, we were able to take the last stage just fine without.”

“But the course!” His co-driver piped up, shaking her head. “So many switchbacks—I almost went insane.”

“Well, the thing about Linda is,” Rocco laughed, slapping Linda on the back and nearly causing her to spit out her forkful of potato, “she was already driving like it!”

Suddenly, shouts went up from some of the spectators, and Linda looked up at the nearest television.

_ Greco/Rossi — DNF (Totaled, Stage 11) _

_ Fairbairn/Blanc — Finished (1st) _

_ “Totaled,”  _ Linda gasped, dropping her fork and clapping a hand to her mouth. “Oh my God, I hope they’re all ri—”

“We’re  _ first!”  _ Pascal exclaimed, disbelief in his tone. The whole place fell silent as he clapped his hands to his head and looked down the table at Linda. “Linda! We’re in  _ first place!” _

And as Linda finally realized, the place erupted into cheers.

“Linda! We’ve won!” Janna squealed, lunging around the table and grabbing her into a hug so enthusiastic that Linda was nearly lifted off her feet. “We’re  _ years  _ ahead of both  _ Aspen _ and  _ Rêverie. Years!” _

As afternoon turned to evening and the last teams returned to base,  _ Céleste _ ’s position at the top of the board remained secure. The organizers instructed them to take their car back around to ceremonially cross the finish line, and they agreed wholeheartedly.

Janna and Werner duct-taped flowers to the car’s hood, and Linda and Pascal retraced the last kilometer of the race to momentous cheers from spectators lining the road, string lights stretching across the streets and guiding them to the main square.

Once more, they came to a stop at the finish, where a stage had been quickly built. Some volunteers directed them to park the car on display, and after Linda turned off the car, she slipped out. Shading her eyes against the setting sun, she beamed as rally organizers and a few local students came running up to them bearing bouquets and a large bottle of champagne.

“Linda! Get up here.”

She turned to see Pascal standing on the roof of the cabin, holding out a hand to her. Bracing her foot on the wheel, she accepted the hand and clambered onto the roof with him.

They received their bouquets and giggled as Linda pried off the bottle’s cork and followed in the footsteps of racers long before her, baptizing the rest of the team with a spray of locally produced champagne.

Then there was an hour’s wait for local reporters to finish interviewing the winning teams, and for officials to tally up the final points before the awards ceremony officially began. Linda joined the crowds in the square as a local rock band treated them all to a performance.

At last, the awards ceremony began, and the team sat in their assigned seats onstage as the rally organizers gave closing remarks, then handed the microphone over to the tourism committee in charge of the invitational.

Linda applauded after each speech, but if she was being completely honest, her mind was in the same place it had been this whole race—away, somewhat detached, removed to a distance.

She scanned the crowds of spectators and residents packed into the small square. The lights pointed at the stage made it nearly impossible to pick out individual faces from the teeming masses of people, let alone the one face she really wanted to see at the moment.

“And now,” the emcee announced, “the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Here to present awards to the second- and third-place teams, Prime Minister Heike Fischer and Home Affairs Minister Sascha Hess.”

Polite applause rang out as the local politicians appeared from backstage, waving to the audience and the cameras, and took up the glass trophies for the respective podium places in their hands. 

“In third place, team  _ Sandía  _ with driver Jorge Álcala and navigator Mercedes de la Cruz.”

Noisemakers and cheers rang into the night as the driver got up and crossed the stage to accept the trophy and stand on the podium.

“In second place, team  _ Mirage  _ with driver Paavo Mäkelä and navigator Erik Korhonen.”

The driver rose from his seat and posed for a picture with the Prime Minister before taking his place on the podium.

“Almost your turn,” Pascal plucked at her sleeve. “Wonder who’s going to give you the trophy? Looks like they’ve run themselves out of high-ranking government officials.”

“Shh!” Linda put a finger to her lips.

“And now, before we present awards to our first-place driver, we ask that you please rise.”

A little confused, Linda stood with the rest of the teams onstage.

“To present the first-place award,” the announcer intoned, “Her Serene Highness The Princess Regent, Theresa Gustava Bonaventura of Liechtenstein.”

Over a recorded fanfare and much cheering from the locals in the crowd, a lone woman walked out of the backstage zone next to Linda’s seat in a powder-blue suit. Pinned to her head was a fascinator in a darker shade of blue, of the variety usually worn by overly rich women at horse races. She paused in front of the podium, her back to Linda, and waved to the audience before picking up the trophy and standing aside.

“In first place,” the announcer began, silencing the crowd, “the winner of the inaugural Liechtenstein Amateur Rally Invitational...Team  _ Céleste  _ with driver Linda Fairbairn and navigator Pascal Blanc!”

Pascal pushed her out of the row with such enthusiasm that she stumbled a bit as she made her way to receive her trophy from the dignitary. Managing to catch herself, she laughed at Pascal over her shoulder and turned away, focusing on the princess as she headed for the front of the stage.

It took all of her willpower not to stop altogether and gape like an idiot at the woman grasping a glass trophy and staring back at her from underneath delicate tulle netting.

Impossibly, in the place of the reigning monarch of the country stood none other than Tessa Sponheim.

Tessa Sponheim, the planespotter. Tessa Sponheim, the diplomat. Tessa Sponheim, her friend. Tessa Sponheim, her girlfriend.

Tessa Sponheim, apparently the ruler of a microstate.

Linda had no idea how she managed to do it, but she crossed the stage on shaking legs and came face-to-face with Tessa for the first time in days.

_ “Gut gemacht... _ Linda,” she said, extending the trophy to Linda, and with that, there was no more doubt. Tessa Sponheim had been a ruse, a scheme that had hinged—upon all things—on Linda not bothering to read up on Liechtensteiner royal history or check the official Swiss foreign office websites.

_ “Dankä,”  _ Linda replied a little flatly, taking the trophy from Tessa _ —Theresa— _ and gently shaking the proffered hand.

Firm grip, eyes warm, smile—

Linda couldn’t bear to try and read the smile.

The hand fit perfectly enough in hers to tell her everything she needed to know.

Releasing Theresa’s hand, Linda awkwardly bobbed her head at her—much to the amusement of the local crowd—and climbed to her place on the podium, raising her trophy above her head as the crowd cheered.

No amount of accolade, however, could extinguish the small yet steady flame of betrayal beginning to eat at Linda’s chest from within.

They posed for photos on the podium, photos with their co-drivers, photos with organizers and tourism committee members and award presenters and  _ Theresa,  _ Linda could barely keep her eyes of Theresa. She was smiling, always smiling. The same smile Linda had seen at Zurich airport, pointing out a particularly unfortunate-looking 737 with a tail too big for its body. The same smile she’d seen on the cobbled streets of Rome, lit by the setting sun. The same smile she’d seen as Theresa had stretched out on Linda’s bed and given her as Linda had propped her head up with one hand and traced the line of Theresa’s brow with her other.

Finally, the ceremony was over, and all the podium finishers were taken backstage and informed by rally organizers that they were to take their cars up the hill to Vaduz Castle for a celebratory dinner in their honor.

Linda had nodded perfunctorily and turned away to frogmarch Pascal as far from the scene as possible when Theresa lifted a hand. “Except,” Theresa said, “for the first-place drivers, from  _ Céleste.  _ We would like to take them up to the castle ourselves.”

“Actually, it’s fine,” Linda found herself shrugging. She wasn’t exactly sure where this new streak was coming from. It was something reckless and adrenaline-fueled and probably something she’d regret later, but she couldn’t help it or stop herself. “I can take the car up myself with my co-driver,” she continued loudly.

Pascal elbowed her, but the head organizer had already fixed Linda with a beady, disapproving look. “It is a personal offer from The Princess Regent. Refusing it...should not be taken so lightly.”

“Ah, don’t mind her,” Pascal laughed nervously, stamping on Linda’s foot for good measure. “It’s the stress of the day getting to her, I guess. We’d be honored,” he added, obviously endeavoring to defuse the tension. “Our team can take the car up. I’m sure they won’t mind.”

“Good.”

Theresa led them out of the backstage zone and to a waiting sedan: heavily tinted windows. Electric.

An attendant opened the door for them as they approached. Pascal motioned for Theresa and Linda to enter first, but Linda crouched beside one of the wheels, making a big show of examining the wheel well.

“So it was you that nearly ran me down last night?” she addressed Theresa, jerking her thumb at the car.

“Linda,  _ please!”  _ Pascal begged.

Theresa motioned for Pascal to enter the vehicle and pasted a smile on her face; apparently unwilling to disobey a direct order, Pascal slid inside.

“Linda. We’ll talk  _ later,”  _ Theresa hissed through her smile without moving her lips. “Get in the car.”

So Linda crossed her arms and clambered inside.

Just before the princess took a seat, Pascal grabbed her sleeve. “Linda. What’s your  _ deal?” _

She shook him off. “I can’t tell you.”

“Seriously—”

Theresa sat next to Linda, shut the door, and sat back as the driver peeled away from the curb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m not going to pretend i understand everything about rallying so, as always, my apologies for any and all errors.
> 
> also, i drive automatic, and in the process of writing this i gave up on figuring out how the clutch works. i've always been meaning to learn how to drive manual, but i never expected "inability to describe it in fanfiction" as a consequence of not doing so.


	5. Regularity II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout.

Almost instantly upon the car’s arrival to the hilltop castle, whose grounds had been opened for the night to host the race afterparty, Theresa was whisked away by household staff, leaving Linda only a meaningful look as she disappeared from view. Thus Linda was spared from having to endure one more minute of stilted conversation.

“What on earth was _that_ act back there?” Pascal demanded as they headed over to where the rest of the team was standing by the newly-cleaned car.

“Honestly, Pascal, it’s personal. I can’t tell you.” Linda refused to look him in the eye, instead choosing to take in the many tents and food stalls scattered over the gentle slope of the lawns, connected with strings of lights.

 _“Personal?_ With the princess of Liechtenstein?”

“Who’s personal with the princess of Liechtenstein?” Janna asked, hands in her pockets as they awaited further instructions.

“Linda, apparently,” Pascal rolled his eyes.

Janna burst into laughter. “That’s a good one!”

“You wouldn’t think it was a joke, the way Linda was—”

“Ladies and gentlemen.” A butler stepped into view at the main door of the castle. “The royal family of Liechtenstein welcomes you all to this honorary dinner tonight. Please follow us inside.”

Being the first-place team, _Céleste_ found itself passing through the entryway first.

Looking around the airy foyer, Linda was initially struck by how underdressed she must have been for such opulent surroundings. The curtains, at least, must have cost more than a month’s salary.

The second realization that hit, however, was that she wasn’t in some museum diorama or historic house. This was Theresa’s _home._

_I don’t even know where you live._

In different circumstances, she would have found it easy to laugh at herself; now, the gravity of what she’d said was simply too much to think about for too long.

Linda’s eyes were drawn next to a series of six portraits hanging on a wall surrounding a larger seventh painting. She instantly recognized Theresa near the top of the smaller set of portraits, sporting a delicate tiara and dressed in deep purple. The remaining small portraits depicted more women looking vaguely similar to Theresa. The oldest of these couldn’t have been more than thirty years old if Linda judged correctly; the youngest, no more than twenty.

Focusing on the largest painting last of all, Linda almost choked.

In the final painting, Theresa was sitting in an ornate chair wearing another tiara and a gown under a sash decked with decorations. Standing at the arm of the chair, in what appeared to be a miniaturized military uniform, stood a small, sandy-haired boy with chubby cheeks, gazing sullenly out at Linda. If she was right, the boy in this picture could be no more than ten or eleven years old. Theresa: probably less than thirty-five.

Linda’s mind furiously whirred as she counted back, ignoring the awed chatter around her as the other guests gazed around.

A twenty-five year age difference, at most. Royal girls married young, didn’t they?

Linda looked back up at the portraits, horror starting to coat the inside of her stomach. Her mind raced again as she tried to recall—had she ever noticed a ring on Theresa’s finger?

She peered closer at Theresa’s left hand, lying on the armrest of the chair. A regal gesture. In a bygone time, she’d be clasping an orb or some other silly symbol of power or might.

There was a ring on her fourth finger.

Suddenly feeling very ugly indeed, Linda turned away and right into Giulia.

“Whoa, whoa.” Giulia steadied Linda. “What’s up?”

“I—” Somehow it was getting increasingly stifling in the room. “I can’t breathe in here.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Giulia reassured her. “It’s probably not going to be as formal as it looks. Most of us have spent all day outdoors, anyhow!” she laughed at the last part, patting Linda’s arm and darting away, ostensibly to find Werner.

With Giulia gone, Linda found herself staring at the paintings again. Rather than giving her some answers to things she’d been dying to know about Theresa—did she have siblings? What was her family like?—the paintings begged even more questions.

Where was the king? Was there a king? How were all these people related? And the most cosmically frightening of all—had Theresa’s lies also extended to her heart? Was she the boy’s mother? Was the father the king, if there was one? Had Theresa been _married_ throughout this whole...thing? Had Linda been unknowingly roped into an—

“Her Serene Highness The Princess Regent invites you to take your places in the dining room,” another butler announced before bowing them through a door inlaid with gold leaf. Casting one glance around the entryway, Linda followed him through.

She found a place card bearing her name in front of a particularly long arrangement of flowers and sat at the seat, Pascal eagerly conversing with Rocco at her right elbow.

“Esteemed guests, please rise for The Princess Regent Theresa and her sisters The Princess Céline, The Princess Mathilde, and The Princess Gretel.”

Another door opened, and Theresa swept through to meet the applauding guests with two other women and a teenage girl in her wake. All were considerably dressed down, heads bare and opting for business casual.

Theresa subtly directed the other women to sit at various empty seats scattered randomly around the long table before walking over to Linda and taking the seat to her left.

The rest of the guests followed her lead, leaving Linda still standing for a fraction of a second before hastily resuming her seat.

“Hello, Linda,” Theresa murmured aside as they all settled into their seats.

Linda nodded a little distantly and carried on worrying the skin around her nails to bits.

Next to her, Theresa smiled magnanimously around the table before opening up her napkin and placing it in her lap. Linda followed suit just as a waiter appeared—seemingly out of nowhere—at her side with a bowl of soup. She accepted it with another nod, knowing just enough about dinners to recall that the host (in this case Theresa) was served last.

The soup and entrée courses passed without much event, the quiet conversation in the room accented by the clinking of utensils and glasses. Linda sensed that Theresa, at her elbow, seemed quite eager to try and make conversation with her—about the experience, the scenery, her tactics. But Linda had too many thoughts and questions swirling around in her head to give more than perfunctory, terse responses. She knew that to the whole table and the waitstaff standing at attention by the walls, she probably looked very uncomfortable—or at worse, incredibly rude.

Linda couldn’t help it. How could she? It was almost like her whole world had practically overturned in the space of just a few hours—flipped over like the car had nearly done at the thirteenth stage. Everything she thought she’d known about Tessa had been a façade, a front, a charade.

And Linda—unaware, unknowing, besotted Linda—had simply gone along with it all, without a second thought. If she’d had a shred less dignity, she would have blamed herself for that.

Theresa had much to answer for. It was going to be a difficult conversation, but an essential one. If Linda could help it, this conversation would end in clarity. Not like last time.

But it obviously couldn’t happen right now, right here—so Linda tried to assume a more open expression and put herself at ease conversing with the princess.

By the time the entrée course had ended and the staff had brought out the roast on platters, it had almost become like normal between the two of them—or at least, what had passed as normal for the past few months.

Rather than beginning with Linda as she’d expected, the waitstaff brought the roast to Theresa for inspection and approval. She looked over the selection, then nodded regally, and taking that as her cue, Linda accepted a lamb chop from a server.

“Which knife, _Frau_ Fairbairn?” another server asked, opening and presenting a small chest containing several very pointy and ostensibly expensive knives to her.

She froze. They didn’t cover this on dinner etiquette websites. Linda could feel the eyes of her fellow diners on her, so she did the only thing she could think of doing—momentarily neglecting where she was, she turned aside. “Any recommendations, Tes—Theresa?”

It wasn’t exactly a gasp, but some people sharply inhaled, and Linda spotted the rest of her team looking at her like she’d lost her mind. She felt her face begin to warm under the scrutiny, and she looked back at Theresa.

If anything, Theresa looked unfazed and just a tiny bit amused. “I would recommend any of the knives from Sakai city, the gifts we received from the visit with the Imperial Family.”

The server handed a knife off, and the roast course continued, as did dessert, with little notable event.

After cheese and coffee had been served, Theresa announced that they would be re-joining the main party on the castle grounds and thanked the teams for coming to the dinner, as well as for bringing exposure to Liechtensteiner tourism through their participation in the rally.

After polite applause, the waitstaff began ushering the additional princesses and guests out of the dining room. Theresa slipped an arm through Linda’s and followed at the rear of the group. She didn’t make a move to shake her off as they left the dining room; immediately after the gilded doors closed and the staff left the rest of the group disperse, Theresa suddenly and abruptly pulled Linda behind a tapestry and through a concealed door.

Linda yelped as they stumbled into a darkened stone hallway.

“This is the old servants’ passage. Hush: it echoes,” Theresa whispered, clutching Linda tighter. “Torch?”

“My phone, in my pocket.” Theresa stepped away, and Linda retrieved the device and turned on the built-in torch. “You taking me to the dungeon, Your Highness?” Linda asked, pointing the beam of light down the corridor.

Theresa’s lips became a thin line, and she took hold of Linda and began marching her away, deeper into the castle. They passed a door—which Theresa pointed out as leading to the kitchen—before taking a set of stairs down, following the curve of the castle wall. The beam of Linda’s torch illuminated only a few feet in front of them at a time, but Theresa took a quick clip through the corridor.

Finally, the passageway ended in a door, and Theresa let go of Linda. She fished out a ring of keys from an inside pocket in her blazer and unlocked it, opening the door to reveal an outdoor area. “After you.”

Linda stepped outside. This high up, the stars felt a little closer, but the dark mountains beyond the castle reminded Linda that this was still not the highest point in the country.

She advanced a little further. It appeared to be a little garden, neatly manicured with iron chairs and a little table surrounded by flower bushes and softly lit by paper lanterns. It, like most of the castle, was set slightly higher than the grounds on which it stood. If Linda looked out, she could see the lit tents, a live band playing, and big screens where highlights and commentary from the rally were playing.

“Like it?” Theresa asked, tucking her keys away and bracing herself against the door. “It’s my favorite part of this place. I’m the only one who really uses it, and...well. Nobody will know we’re here.”

Linda stared intently at Theresa. In the soft light of the lanterns, she looked positively anxious. “You can sit, if you want,” Theresa continued, in a lower tone. “It’s okay.”

“I’ve been sitting for practically the whole day,” Linda returned. “I’m fine with standing.”

“Okay.”

Linda stared at Theresa, trying to reconcile her with Tessa from the airport or Tessa from Rome or Tessa lying in her bed. “Your Highness—” Linda started, trying to break the silence.

“Don’t. Don’t. _Don’t._ Please...don’t.” Theresa shook her head emphatically. “I know it’s a shock—”

“Well, you can say _that_ again,” Linda scoffed.

“Linda, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Linda closed her eyes momentarily, and when she opened them again, Theresa was shaking. Taking a deep breath to collect herself, Linda asked quietly, “Would you rather...is it Tessa, or Theresa?”

“Theresa,” she nodded vigorously, almost before the question had finished making its way out of Linda’s mouth. “Let’s start from there.”

“Well...Theresa.” Linda sighed. “What are you doing up against that door? Come over here.”

Theresa pushed herself off the door, ran over, and threw her arms around Linda, clutching at her race suit and pressing her face to Linda’s shoulder with a long sigh.

It gutted Linda to do it, but she lifted her arms and pushed the princess gently off of her.

Theresa staggered back, looking startled and a little hurt.

“Are you even... _allowed?”_ Linda asked helplessly, motioning between them. “You and me.”

“What?” Theresa’s expression turned to one of confusion.

“Who’s the boy?” Linda asked, stepping closer to Theresa.

“What...what boy?”

“In the painting. The biggest portrait in your entryway.”

In Theresa’s face, bewilderment turned to realization, then realization to horror. “My brother. Oh my God. That’s my brother. I was in university when he was born. That’s why...the age gap, it’s big. But he is my brother. Not…”

“Not your son.”

 _“Not_ my son.” Theresa shook her head again. “Linda, I’m not married. I’ve never been married. I couldn’t do that...I’d never...I would _never_ do that. It would never come to that."

"And the ring on your finger in that portrait?" Linda questioned further.

Theresa looked aside, then back at Linda. "I think I know what you're talking about. It's...it's a signet ring, symbol of commitment to the nation. It's worn by the reigning monarch. My father wore it at his coronation and his official portrait. I wore it to the accession ceremony and that portrait. I am the Princess Regent. My brother, he—he is the king. He’s at school right now, otherwise I’d be making him give a public appearance. He needs the practice.”

“Your school-age brother is…”

“Yes.” Theresa sighed and glowered up at the castle. “He is the king. Not my choice. I had no say in that. All I have...all I have is that duty. Take care of the country until he comes of age. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“And diplomacy?”

“They need a face and someone to nod and smile and give speeches and shake hands. I can give that of myself. I still hate it, and that was the truth.”

“What else was?”

 _“Everything_ else.” Theresa stared up at Linda, eyes pleading for her to understand and believe her, and Linda wanted so badly just to reach out and hold her in the way she'd done before— _before_ all these revelations and discoveries—but if this was going to be at all sustainable, nothing could ever be like it was before. “I swear. Everything else was the truth. The planes, the German, what we did in Rome and after that, and how I’ve loved you...That was _all_ me.”

“Not...I don’t think you can...I have trouble believing…” Linda sighed, trying to condense her thoughts into words. “What I’m saying is that...to you, it might’ve been different, but to me...it wasn’t _all_ you,” Linda pointed out gently. “No matter how much you disclaim it...you’re royalty. It’s like…it makes you a completely different person. There’s...I’ve got no idea how it must feel but...you’ve got a whole other...a whole other _persona_ you haven’t told me about.”

“I _wanted_ to tell you,” Theresa continued, gesturing at the castle above them. “And I hate that...I hate that you had to find out this way. I wish it had been different. It could have been different if I…” She sighed heavily. “I promised myself I would tell you, eventually. But I never...I never found the chance to. And I didn’t know how to do it. Every day for a while after we...after it got serious. After Rome, every morning...I said to myself...I told myself _today’s the day. I have to do it now. I have to figure out how to do it._ But…”

“You never did.”

“Yes...I never did. Again—I’m truly sorry, Linda...I truly hate that this was how you found out. If I had my way—”

 _“If you had your way—_ there you go again,” Linda fumed, then cut herself off instantly. This didn’t need to escalate.

“When you invited me, at first—I thought maybe, maybe I could wrangle things to have my younger sister—Céline, you saw her earlier—take my place. I wanted to come with you, I really did. That’s why I said yes, at first. But when you told me you were coming to _our_ rally...well.” Theresa let out a shaking breath. “That changed _everything.”_

“And that was you. In the car, speeding up the road to the castle last night?”

Theresa paused, then nodded hesitantly. “I had some business I had to attend to in Bern and wasn’t able to get home—back here, I mean—until last night. I saw you, I thought I recognized your sweater, but...I couldn’t risk turning around to get a better look at your face.”

“Did you watch? The race, did you watch that?”

“Only from a distance, when you were warming up the tires, and when you started the first stage. I couldn’t...I couldn’t bring myself to go out there, knowing you were driving, knowing that _you_ didn’t know I was there...I let my sisters go out, but I didn’t. I couldn’t imagine what would happen if you were doing something important and happened to see me—how you’d react. It didn’t seem safe. I didn't want to risk it. So I stayed in the castle most of the time and only came out for the ceremony at the end. And when I found out it was you I would be presenting the award to…” Theresa laughed mirthlessly. “The thing I’d been trying to get myself to do—telling you who I really am—just like that, I was forced to do it.”

 _“Why,_ Theresa?” Linda shook her head. “Why couldn’t you _trust_ me with that before all this? It seems so...unnecessary...”

“It wasn’t a matter of trust,” Theresa began hotly, but paused to compose herself before continuing in a lower tone. “I would trust you with...with my...Linda, I trust you, okay? It wasn’t a matter of, well...of me being afraid that you’d be unable to somehow cope with it, or keep quiet about the fact that...that I am a politician. That I am a dignitary, that…that I am royalty.”

“Then what?”

Theresa sighed again. “I wanted...for once, I wanted someone to know me for...me. Not Theresa, the princess. Not Theresa, the business interest or the diplomat. Just...me. Theresa, the girl who likes planes more than she should. The...I’ve been in...I’ve had a relationship and too many flings before, but all of them…”

“With commoners like me, or…?”

“Mostly set up with other nobility, but...one commoner. Apart from you.”

 _Good to know,_ Linda wanted to say, but she wasn’t sure how that would come across, so she sat on it.

“All of them...all of them _knew_ I was royal, and...I didn’t like it. The last one...with a commoner, the last time...I _had_ to say I was royal, it was circumstantial.”

“Was that a reason why…” _Why it didn’t work out._ That part was unsaid.

Theresa raised her hands, a helpless sort of gesture, and sagged back onto the garden table. “Who can know for sure. Whatever the real reason— _if_ there even was a ‘real reason,’ I knew I wanted something different. Somebody said once that...what did they say? Madness is when you keep repeating the same thing but expect different? Something like that.”

Linda sighed. “Look, Theresa, I see where you’re coming from, but...you’ve had siblings I knew nothing about. A family I knew nothing about. Obligations I knew nothing about. A castle and a whole _country_ I knew nothing about...” Propping a hand on her hip, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look, we really...we just can’t continue like…” She bit her lip, stopping herself from speaking. The way she was talking, she sounded like she was going to break up, _really_ break up with Theresa—and there was still something there, right? Was there still something there?

Planes lifting off the ground. In the flightdeck, it was hard to truly appreciate that moment. There was just too much to do, too many checklists to keep track of, too much to watch, the roar of the engines in her ears and the plastic and metal of the flightdeck jostling with each other around her, trying to shake off gravity like a massive dog throwing water off its back. Even in the cabin, it was hard to appreciate it, too. Takeoffs were vulnerable points of flight: there was a reason why passengers were discouraged from putting on their headphones to block out the noise of the engines. They had to be able to know whether something was happening. Whether they would have to evacuate, abort the takeoff...whatever.

But from far away, the planes were graceful, all swooping lines and angles and mechanics and thrust, ripples of heat haze off the wings and backs of engines as they gently tipped up and climbed into the sky. From far away, she could forget how fast the plane was hurtling along the runway. She could forget the massive amounts of thrust, the air forcing itself over the wings, the momentary pressure she felt before the earth loosened its grip on her. She could forget about that, because she was looking at it from far away, and she was not on that plane.

They had been far away from the runways, standing together, shoulder to shoulder at the fence: pressing against each other, smiles on their faces, wind turning their cheeks and noses red.

That was where they had started.

And there would always be something there for them. 

Linda looked back out at the revelers down on Vaduz Castle’s expansive lawns, down at the people laughing and drinking and eating, talking about the race they’d just seen. The drivers, the cars, the mountains, the awards.

On the largest screen, where race highlights were playing, Linda saw footage of their car on a stage, hurtling out of the mountains.

“Another notable move of the race came from driver Linda Fairbairn, formerly of Scotland but recently expatriated to Switzerland and a new team. Spectators had to flee from the scene as her Albatros Mark V, co-driven by Pascal Blanc, nearly lost the track coming out of the last mountainous section.”

Linda cringed, knowing the error that would come next.

On cue, the camera jolted suddenly as their car turned over on two wheels, held in place for a heart-stopping second, then landed back on its four wheels. Linda saw herself frantically spinning the wheel, eyes wide as the camera zoomed in on her before panning as she accelerated quickly back on track to make up for lost time.

“That was you?” Theresa asked in a hushed tone, catching Linda’s sleeve.

Linda winced again, closing her eyes and turning away from Theresa. “That’s...that’s on me. It should never have happened. We were _ahead_ at that point but...we lost so much time. We lost that stage and I had to make up for it in the next. That was my mistake...I…”

“Oh, _Linda…”_ She felt two hands cautiously grasp her upper arms, and Theresa slowly turned her around to face her. Linda kept her eyes shut and let Theresa lift a hand to the side of her face, touch gentle against her skin. “Linda...I…”

Linda opened her eyes again to see Theresa’s gaze flick down from her face and over her race suit, resting on the embroidered name patch on Linda’s chest. _L. Fairbairn. A+._

 _“A+?”_ Theresa wondered aloud. “What’s…” Suddenly, recognition dawned on her face, and she looked back up at Linda, a bit of fear in her eyes. “That’s your blood group?”

“We’re required to have it on us, in case there’s a…” Linda replied quietly, not wanting to finish the sentence. She vaguely remembered the end of the supercars, the rallies of her childhood. The Tour de Corse when she was probably seven or eight—her father telling her of the fatal crash that had burned a car beyond recognition and killed both its drivers, then the disqualification of Group B, then her mother making her swear not to set foot in a supercar under any circumstance.

Despite the abrupt change of tone of this whole situation, Linda found herself chuckling ruefully. “I guess that makes me a dangerous woman, hm? Risky business, flying. And driving.” She paused. “A dangerous woman and a princess regent.” She gazed back down at Theresa, whose eyes were turned back up to her. “We make quite a pair...don’t we, Theresa?”

Theresa only blinked for a little bit, and Linda wondered whether she had fully registered what she’d said, but suddenly, she gasped, her eyes widening. “So…you still...”

“I’m still...I’m still processing this,” Linda warned, nevertheless sliding her arms around Theresa’s waist and lacing her fingers together, letting her hands rest on the small of Theresa’s back. “It’s going to take some time, probably.”

“Take all the time you need,” Theresa replied instantly, grinning, and Linda couldn’t help but return the smile. “Take as much time as you need.”

“Yes. I will. But...you know, Theresa?”

“Yeah?”

“When you say you love me...I believe you.”

Suddenly, a distant _crack_ sounded, and they wheeled around to see fireworks searing into the night sky over the castle, exploding into bursts of color.

In Linda’s arms, Theresa laughed merrily. “So they actually did it! My sisters...they thought it’d be a nice touch to the festivities, but they weren’t sure if the weather would cooperate…”

“They’re lovely,” Linda said, gazing upward as the fireworks burst above them, changing the tint of the world around her like filters on a photograph.

“You know, the Japanese...they call them ‘fire flowers.’ _Hanabi_ ,” Theresa said to Linda over the whizzing as the fireworks were propelled into the air.

“Fire flowers...I like that. That’s a beautiful way to put it.”

“Right?” 

As she looked back down, she saw Theresa staring not at the fireworks above, but at Linda, enraptured.

It was just like Zurich all over again—Linda could barely keep her eyes off Theresa. And so, she did the best thing she could in the moment.

When she pulled away from the kiss, Theresa was smiling brighter than the display above, and Linda asked, “Want to go down to the festivities? I’ve got a team who’d love to get to know you.”

“For sure. There’s access down to the lawns on the other side of the garden, and a gate, but I’ve got the keys to those.”

And so, they laced their fingers together and headed for the stairs, giggling the whole way.

_**End.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere gratitude goes out to you for reading, leaving kudos, and/or sharing your thoughts in comments! This turned out to be a much longer project than I had originally envisioned, but boy, am I glad it did :) 
> 
> I’ve also got a playlist for this [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3t41EtRfOhJ3No0Oxsahtf?si=jIw1i16LRgiI1ldFN-vIhw), which I listened to a lot—especially while writing the last two chapters
> 
> Artwork is mine; you can find more of it (and also me) on tumblr at [knapp-shappeys.](https://knapp-shappeys.tumblr.com/)


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